The Young Lion
by Tybolt Silver
Summary: Born and raised a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Lionel of House Lannister son of King Robert and Queen Cersei, gold of hair, is out to take the Iron Throne from, what he believes, his vicious brother. With the help of a shrewd Maester with a secretive past, the two will depose a monster... For another monster to ascend the throne. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

For any young lad, matters of sate were of no interest; however, unless those lads were sons of the unfortunate, those young lads would do well to take interest. The second son of King Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister knew that much; much to his elder brother's disadvantage.

With the King and Queen's absence from the capital, Lionel resided over the Small Council in the seat of the cold and dusty chair for the King. Sitting in the King's seat however didn't guarantee the Prince any power; the Masters had disputed rowdily amongst themselves and ignored the Prince's existence. Why wouldn't they? After all, his only reference was his birth.

The Prince waited, patiently and wisely, as he had been taught for years, and when the moment came, he struck with all his might.

"There are troublesome rumours from the East, my lords," Varys spoke, softly and snake-fully. "The banished Dragons are making pacts with the Dothraki. The Mad King's son intends to marry his child sister to a Dothraki Khal."

The Masters started to talk among themselves.

"Masters of the Small Council!" Lionel Lannister's booming voice silenced the raucous Masters. A true Lion's Roar. "Thank you. What is the danger of this, Lord Varys? Do you believe that the Dothraki will ever cross the Narrow Sea? I know for a fact that if the horselords fear anything, it is water. Surely they'll need to teach their horses how to run on water to attempt to take the Seven Kingdoms."

"Well, with respect Your Highness, Viserys is selling a woman to the Dothraki Khal. You are right, Your Highness, the Dothraki fear water, but if the child plays her cards right, her horselord husband would not only teach his horse how to run on water, he'll also teach it how to fly," Varys said.

"She's just a child!" Pycelle argued.

"She'll grow," Baelish countered.

"Then we need to stop her growing, don't we?" Lionel stated. "Lord Varys, you are from those parts of the world. Surely you have a friend or two down there. You could, if you so wished, arrange a few drops of poison to be smuggled into her goblet."

"We need the King's permission for that," Varys reminded.

"He's wanted them dead for years and that's what we should have done a long time ago. But Jon Arryn always stood in the way with his foolish honour. And… Robert was always a procrastinator," Renly Baratheon declared. "Now the Targareyns have 40,000 horselords at their back."

"Lord Varys, you have my permission. As the Prince and Regent of King's Landing in my father's absence, I give you full permission on this matter. It's time to act." Lionel had taken the reins of power the moment his father gifted them to him. "I await your report, my lord." He looked pointedly at the eunuch, almost questioning his loyalty to the Baratheon crown. "Are there any more matters?"

"No, Your Highness," Varys said.

"Good. Get out. Except you, my Lord Baelish." Just like that, Lionel had asserted his dominance over these lords without reminding them that he was the Prince or a Lannister. Although he was sure that they remembered those facts.

They all shuffled out of the Small Council Chamber, perhaps spitefully, with Baelish standing there, holding files and rubbing his fingers together. "Your Highness?" He asked, cautiously.

"You're a whoremonger, aren't you Petyr?" Lionel asked, looking at the Master of Coin. "Among your other talents?"

Baelish never believed that he would be surprised by anything, but the man was taken aback by Prince's address of him by his first name, not that he was flattered of course, it was just the sound of it sounded… foreign coming from another's mouth.

"Yes. Brothels seem to be a good investment. They flood gold to be purse," Baelish grinned.

"As well as allies, I'd believe," Lionel scratched the slow and subtly growing blond stubble on his chin.

"Indeed. Should I send a few lovely girls your way, my Prince?"

"You can indeed, but I would like you to also send the Khal a few lovely girls. As you would know, my lord, poison doesn't always work. Something goes wrong. Someone blabs. Someone messes up. Therefore we will need to destroy the Targareyns in a different way. Send your most skilled, exotic ladies to the Khal. Seduce him. Make him turn his back on the Targareyns."

"Hm… and what would I get in return?"

"The gratitude of the Seven Kingdoms for ending the wretched Targareyns dynasty," Lionel said in a manner of jest. "Let's see… Harrenhal needs a new Lord. Perhaps I could convince my father to give it to you."

"Harrenhal is cursed."

"Well, surely your brothels have acquired you enough money to knock down the damn thing and build a new keep. The lands would still belong to you even if the castle is knocked over." Lionel smiled remembering another fact about Harrenhal. "They're the largest lands in the Riverlands."

Baelish considered the offer and realised the opportunity in the lordship. Harrenhal and its lands were rich and fertile and plenty. A good bank for his wealth and a step closer to the plots he was hatching.

"Is that an agreement I smell Lord Baelish?"

"Alright. I'll do it."

"Then we are agreed. Oh, and I forgot to mention one small fact. You will need to go with your girls to that continent and staying there until the deed is done and the Targareyns are dead."

"Why?" Baelish grew irritated.

"A simple stimulate for you to rid of the Targareyns faster." _As well as keep you out of the kingdom to buy me some time so you don't hatch anything that could jeopardise my place on that damn Iron chair_. "I assume after a long time, your only desire will be to come back home." Lionel picked up a parchment from the table and handed it to Baelish. "Here is a copy of the warrant for your departure. You'll notice my father's royal seal. But the moment we're rid of the Targareyns you'll be welcomed back with all your lands and gold and positions intact. Are we at an agreement?"

Baelish saw that the Prince had planned his moves, even preparing a warrant in advance before entering the meeting. A worthy opponent. His weasel-like brain considered his options. There weren't that many. "It would seem that I have no other choice, Your Highness."

"Well then, we await your speedy return, Lord Baelish."

Both saw that Baelish was now a bankrupt man. His links to his profitable brothels would be severed in his absence. Bravos and its Iron Bank could allow him to withdraw gold from its cells but travelling to the other side of that hemisphere in a ship full of gold was foolish and there was only so much gold Baelish could carry. There was also the matter of not being present in Westeros to execute his plans of chaos.

Lionel had made his first enemy. As well as his first move in the Game of Thrones. Beginners luck apparently did exist.

-000-

Lionel returned to his chambers after the Small Council meeting. The desire for sleep was overwhelming.

"Long day, Your Highness?" The soft voice of the Master of Whispers made the Prince jump. "Forgive me, Your Highness for the intrusion and the startle."

"You surely know how to make an entrance, Lord Varys? Pray, what are you doing in my chambers? How did you get in?"

"I'm the Master of Whispers. Knowledge my trade."

"I suspect you have some knowledge for me, then?" Lionel approached his wine-table and poured himself a goblet of Dornish wine. "Would you like some wine, my lord?"

"No, thank you."

"How can I help you, my lord?"

"Actually, my business is to help you, Your Highness. It occurs to me that you have begun to play the Game, and your first move has been both wise and dangerous. Banishing Baelish… ingenious, although don't you fear that Baelish will use his whores to bring the Dothraki to his side." Varys, although had behaved very flatteringly, treated Lionel patronisingly.

"I do. But I hope that might take some time. By the time that Baelish will attack, if he does choose to do so, the throne will belong to a strong man who can defend his kingdom."

"And… do you believe that to be you?"

"My father would rather drink and whore than rule; he was once perhaps a great warrior but no longer. My older brother will run with his tail between his legs when faced with a bloody battle. Both are fools and true cowards. The throne rightfully belongs to me. Would you agree?"

"I think you could make a good king, Your Highness, however, I don't think it is rightfully yours." Varys produced a book and put it on a table. "I'll advise to look at your lineages, Your Highness."

Lionel looked at the title of the book. "Ah… that book. I know what you are pointing to. Marriage is such an official custom. If you ask me, a woman made that rule so that only her child could claim her partner's wealth and love. I doubt its significance."

"The rest of the world would disagree with you."

"The rest of the world thinks my siblings and I are Robert's children. And think of it this way, my lord, my ancestors were Kings in the Age of Heroes, not some common shepherds. Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Martell, Arryn, you name them. They were all the kings of their lands. Now let's look at the houses that were never kings: Tully, Tyrell, Greyjoy and… Targareyns. Our 'kings' were a weak and unimportant family in Old Valeria who got lucky. They were never kings, most likely they were shepherds. My ancestors were kings. They were conquerors with dragons. My ancestors had been royalty since the beginning of history. Now tell me, who is the rightful King of The Seven Kingdoms?"

"With that logic, there should be Seven Kingdoms with Seven Kings. A Targareyn forged one kingdom. You are no Targareyn. Not even a Baratheon, who have some drops of Targareyn blood."

"Oh, my lord, do you truly believe that Baratheons have Targareyn blood? If they do, shouldn't they have blonde hair and purple eyes… the same factor that declares my siblings and I, bastards?" Lionel smiled in pleasure when he saw that Varys was deep in thought. "Power resides were men believe it resides, doesn't it, my lord, you said that yourself I believe."

Varys was impressed. "Indeed. To your father."

"I can be king. I can be a _great_ , _powerful_ king, if you believe I can be king. If not, then I'm afraid I'd have to do without you, my lord, and still be king." Lionel sipped some wine. "So choose. A Lannister King. A Baratheon dynasty. Or Targareyn chaos."

Varys smiled. "I can't give Your Highness an answer, yet. But I will give you this young man." Varys signalled with his finger and a single Maester older than Lionel by only a few years, came out of the shadows. "This is Maester Howland. He is the pride of the Citadel. Youngest Maester to have completed his training—"

"And your spy."

"He is a gift. To guide you. A show of my support to your cause, Your Highness."

"Basically, you are not putting all your eggs in the same basket."

"Do you ever do that, Your Highness?"

"No."

"But I do give you a great resource. One day, you may thank me." Varys made his way out of the chambers, but then stopped. "Oh I almost forgot, I letter for you, Your Highness, from Highgarden." He took the letter from out of his person and put it on the table.

"Lord Varys… with Baelish in the East, possibly forging alliances with the Targareyns and Dothraki you have more initiative than ever to poison the girl, the whoremonger and the whore. The whoremonger because you'll never have another opportunity, the whore to tie up any loose ends and the girl because she can invade the Seven Kingdoms and wreak havoc."

Varys left, without saying a word, but defeated nonetheless, for both knew how much Varys feared Baelish's power and so both knew that he would poison someone.

Lionel sat on his bed. "Bring me the letter."

"Your Highness has found an admirer in Margery Tyrell?" The Maester went to the table and took the letter. Putting pieces together was not very hard for him.

Lionel took the letter from the Maester and began to open it. "I was her father's ward when I was a child. We grew up together. It's only natural that children growing up in the same household for years should develop feelings."

"Your Highness, if I may advice you?" The Maester's voice was cold and hard and uncompromising, as was his appearance. He was a young man, but that didn't stop him from knowing about life and death and power. He was not a man that was destined to be a servant; it was unlikely that he would allow anyone, even a King or Prince, to walk over him or disrespect him.

"Go on."

"Play the Tyrells like cards, on your sleeve. Don't give Margery your heart. She will use it to wage a war that was never necessary in the first place. As we speak, your father may be arranging a marriage with a Stark, your mother with a distant Lannister and your grandfather with a Martell. Each pursuing their own goals. Margery will make you raise men against your wife's house, whoever she may be. She has been raised by the Queen of Thorns in the art of politics."

"As have I. What should I do then, wise Maester?"

"Find a mistress. She'll take your mind off Margery. And you'll need that if you plan on keeping the Tyrells close to you, but remaining neutral."

Lionel laughed. "What kind of advice is that? I believe it is women that find men."

"Take your horse out for a ride tomorrow morning into the Crownland countryside. Maybe something might catch your eye." Howland seemed to lack the ability to smile or feel any joy.

"Are serious?"

"Yes. True, strong men need sex like they need food. Sex is nutrition to strength and masculinity. Fortunately for you, few men at court have regular, healthy sex."

"So your wise advice is to find a whore?"

"A mistress. Whores are easily bought and in fact, are poor at sex. A country girl you pick off the street and treat like a queen will never sell you and she'll worship you."

-000-

The next morning, Lionel woke up and contemplated his new friend's advice. He soon realised that it was true. He called his groom to prepare the horses and by lunchtime he rode out with a squad of Lannister guardsmen at his side.

At the first village they stopped at to water their horses, Lionel scanned his eyes at the girls of the village. They had come out of their houses to giggle and blush at the handsome, brave soldiers in their glinting, gold and crimson armour. He didn't see anything that he liked. The second and third village was the same.

Lionel was beginning to feel sceptical about continuing on until they had met a farmer transporting a cart with his young wife and cabbages to Flea Bottom. He sent his men ahead to stop the farmer.

"Halt! In the name of the Prince!" They rode ahead. Lionel catching up.

The farmer fell to his knees in front of Lionel's horse. The Prince barely noticed him though; he dismounted and stepped closer to the farmer's wife.

She was a young girl, about 14 or 15. Luxurious, black hair fell on her shoulders; smoky grey eyes never left his emerald orbs; rouge, puffy lips were parted from each other and the Lannister heir felt the undefeatable urge to kiss them; a pale white complexion complemented her. She dressed in a very modest fashion, not revealing anything. She was simply a goddess sent to earth.

"Your Highness should know that I have the Lord Rykker's written permission to leave my village to go and trade my cabbages in King's Landing... and I can easily prove it… If you would be so kind as to let us pass…" The farmer knew the way that the boy, that was so much younger than himself, look at his wife, but there was nothing he could do about that. Right before his eyes, Lionel lifted the girl's chin and kissed her succulent lips. She seemed to enjoy it too, being kissed by a Prince.

"What's your name?" Lionel asked her, after parting their burning lips.

"Maria, Your Highness."

"Maria…" He repeated the name, tasting the word on his lips, detecting a delicious flavour. "Would you like to see the Red Keep, Maria?"

Her eyes widened and she was too speechless to say anything. Her husband starred at the Prince as he led his wife to his horse. The girl, gracefully, climbed onto the magnificent stallion; a stallion that her husband could never even dream of seeing, let along buying. The Prince climbed right behind her, wrapping his arms around her slim waist and placed his chin on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, fresh strawberry scent.

They galloped off and the Lannister guardsmen quickly mounted in pursuit.

The farmer was left, shocked, in the dust.


	2. Chapter 2

The Royal Party had arrived back into King's Landing and the Queen's first and primary business was to see the son that she had not seen in close to a month. She marched up the hundreds of stairs to the Prince's chamber only to be stopped by two Lannister guardsmen.

"Let me pass, you fools. I am here to see my son," she gritted her teeth at the guards, remembering them so that she could later toss them into the black cells for disobedience. "I am the Queen."

"His Highness is currently… indisposed…" One of the men told her, awkwardly.

Cersei remained silent and listened, dreading the methods of how her son was 'indisposed'. As she feared, she heard the faint slapping of wet flesh and distinguishing moans of her son's boyish voice. The Prince was at it, bedding whores and probably drinking… just like Robert, she thought.

"Let me pass anyway," Cersei hissed at the guards. "Or I'll have a talk with my father, Lord Tywin Lannister."

They quickly parted for her.

She came in and surely enough, her second son was thrusting his cock into some girl's arse. Cersei found it revolting for her boy to fuck with lowborn, filthy girls. She cleared her throat and Lionel immediately stopped, looking at his mother. He had blushed a deep, angry red colour and the girl, after being freed by him, grabbed the covers of the bed to cover herself up in the Queen's presence.

"Mother!?" He yelled out, embarrassed and red. His large manhood still erect as he faced her, although the more he looked at her the quicker it was dismantling. "What are you doing here?! Don't you know how to knock? I thought I left those two out there to stand guard! What use are guards to me if they cave in to you!"

"May we have a word in private?" Cersei asked, looking pointedly at the girl who eagerly nodded and tried to scurry out of the room.

"No. Stay." He told the girl, who halted, and then he turned to his mother. "You will wait. Outside."

"What—"

"No! You had disregarded and intruded me and you will wait. When I finish, I'll give you all the attention that you ask for." He fell onto the bed with the girl and started to kiss her lips passionately, but the Queen wouldn't let him.

"Lionel! Don't you dare! Guards!" She yelled and the two men from outside came in.

Before she could order them of anything, Lionel interrupted her. "You are discharged from my guard. Cowards!"

Cersei glared sharp daggers at him. Of all her children, he was the most troubling and challenging of all. Even his birth nearly cost her life; in fact, as she briefly thought about it Joffrey's birth was only slightly easier. "Escort the lady out."

When they approached the girl, Lionel produced a sword. "Take one more step boys and I will make sure neither of you walks out this room with your heads on." The men stepped back, confused about who to obey and what to risk.

"Mother you shall go and wait. Whatever you have to say can wait. I am not your little mummy's boy for you to order around." His emerald eyes were hard and stubborn and she knew that she could not win this. He was furious that she had interrupted him and he was unlikely to forgive her lightly; perhaps a little humiliation of her would make him forgive her.

She didn't say a word, but turned on her heels and marched out of the chambers down the corridor. She cursed him for being such a man now.

"You two can throw yourself off the Maegor's Holdfast's walls for all I care," Lionel placed his sword down and turned his back to them.

The two guards looked at each other, bowed to him and scurried away like rats.

"Guards," Lionel spat the word, lying beside his new mistress. "Cripples and lame men would do a better job at protecting me than those imbeciles." Then his eyes softened, reminded of the soft breasts and of the pleasing backside of the girl. "Now… where were we?"

"You were really brave," Maria whispered before she plucked his lips with her own. "Very manly," her hand reached towards his manhood and rubbed it to get its previous warmth and excitement back. He smiled with his perfect, white teeth and towered over her, fingers running across her pale white flesh. Tongue battled tongue on a battleground of their fused hot mouths.

He took her only once and contemplated to take her another time just to make his mother wait more, but she resisted and convinced him to greet his mother.

The Queen was less than pleased by her son's activities and tried to wipe the memory of walking in and her son's loud voice out of her head with wine. He finally did meet her, fully clothed, thankfully.

"You wanted to see me, mother?"

"Whores." Cersei's displeased face said everything.

Lionel simply sighed. "If I fucked noblewomen, you'd vanquish their father's lands and titles. If I fucked whores, you'd slit their throats. Even if I would have a wife, you would still hate her. No matter who I fucked you will still hate them. What do you want? I'm a man; I need to lay with women. And I'm tired of trying to please you."

"Don't be stupid." Cersei hissed at her son, but knew that he was right. She loved all her children fanatically, and would never trust anyone with them. "She'll betray you when she's paid enough."

"Not if she's only mine and owes everything to me." Lionel didn't want to discuss his business in the bed sheets with his mother. "What did you want, mother, before you interrupted me?"

"Your father had arranged a marriage for you and your twin to wed Ned Stark's daughters. More than he deserves."

"It baffles me. Who would be your ideal bride for me and Joffrey?" Cersei thought for a moment and in truth thought of no one. When Lionel saw his mother's blank mind, he smiled and aided her by changing the subject. "Surely this wasn't your only reason for seeing me?"

"It appears it was." Cersei had hoped to embrace the boy that she had left in the Red Keep and who she had missed for so long.

It was already enough that the great oaf, Robert, had heeded to the Prince's request that he should be raised with a different family. The Small Council advised the Tyrells. How dare those fat fools raise her son instead of her?! He had left when he was seven and returned only six months ago from Highgarden. 9 years it had been! It was hard for her to establish any type of connection with her second born. The boy liked to hunt, fish, swordfight, ride, read and… whore as it seemed, all activities that she abhorred. He didn't listen to her and he seemed to hate his true family, except for Myrcella and little, sweet Tommen. Then she was forced to part with him for another month so that she could venture in the cold, miserable North whilst he ruled King's Landing in his father's stead.

She had left in King's Landing a boy, and when she returned, to her great loathing, she found a man.

"I thank you for your message, Mother. And if that is all…?" He turned around to go directly back to his chambers and mistress.

"Your father and siblings and court are feasting. You should greet them," Cersei persisted. "They haven't seen you in months. Perhaps you should meet your betrothed and her family."

"I thought you despised her? Any girl I am to bed."

"I do despise, but I despise whores a great deal more," Cersei said in a cold tone.

"As you wish, my Queen Mother," Lionel mock bowed to her, grinning evilly as he left her. She absolutely hated him for growing so distant to her. Her heart broke at the sight of his confident smile.

Highgarden had raised her child better than she had raised her other three children combined. Joffrey was cruel and sadistic as well as foolish, Myrcella was sweet but lacked any deviousness and didn't seem fit to play the game; Tommen was too small to make a judgement of yet. Lionel was cunning, smart, confident and strong… things that another hand had embedded into him, not her own.

-000-

The feast was hosted in the Great Hall. Servants had been ordered by the king to set up long tables and prepare mouth-watering food. At the head of the Table was the King, gorging and drinking to his appetite's content. On his left was the empty seat of the Queen; along the left side were seats for the Queen's children. On his right were the Hand and the Hand's family.

Lionel Lannister approached the King first.

"Your Grace… I'm delighted to greet you back home," Lionel loomed over his father, placing an elbow on the back of his father's chair. The Iron Throne was placed on its stage. The feast was on the lower platform of the Great Hall and the King sat in a comfortable chair. For once.

"Look at this one, Ned. Can't call his old man 'Father'," Robert hit his friend on the shoulder to get his attention. He looked up at his second son. "How have you been, lad?"

"Well enough."

"Enjoyed sitting on that damnable chair?"

 _Immensely._ "It's rather uncomfortable; don't you think Your Grace?" Lionel looked at the ugliest chair in the Seven Kingdoms. "But it does wonders for your back."

"Come and eat, _Your Highness_ ," Robert gestured to the Queen's seat, ignoring his son's comment. "What have you done to my kingdom while I was in the North?"

Lionel delightfully took the seat next to the King and smiled subtly but victoriously at his elder brother for being closer to the King than he was. Joffrey simply scowled and muttered a curse word under his breath.

"Your Grace after what you've been doing to your kingdom, I couldn't have done any worse."

The Hall boomed in Robert's laughter. Heads turned to look at the Lion Prince. A large, powerful hand slapped the back of the boy, which although was in good jest, nearly sent the boy flying across the banquet table.

"Boy is a brave one, eh Ned?"

"A lion's courage," Cersei soured the King's mood, entering the Great Hall, drinking some wine. Her hand rested on her seat in which her son sat.

Robert growled at the woman. He hated being reminded that his son had adopted his wife's house. The boy's rejection of his rightful Baratheon name, instead opting for his mother was an insult to Robert's masculinity and pride. Lionel had chosen the Lannister name some time before he left for Highgarden to start being the ward of Mace Tyrell. No doubt the Old Lion had a hand in it. "He's half stag, woman."

"Indeed."

"I suppose your mother told you about your betrothal, lad?" Robert drank from his goblet and wiped his grotesque mouth with his sleeve. "I present to you, your future wife," he pointed to a scrawny little girl sitting two seats away from the Hand of the King.

"My lady," Lionel courteously bowed his head but to his surprise and curiosity, she rolled her eyes. Her father scolded her for being rude and she, resentfully, apologised to him but that didn't dim his curiosity. "My Lord Stark, with your permission, may I walk your daughter among the halls of the Red Keep? With a chaperone if you so desire."

Feeling apologetic about his daughter's behaviour, Eddard Stark consented, even dismissing the need for a chaperone; something about his daughter 'being able to hold her own' gave him confidence and pride.

"So… my lady, how do you like the capital so far?" Lionel began the conversation. They were strolling among the walls with her on his hand. He had to grip her hand for she did not enjoy acting like a lady.

"I don't like it."

Once again, Lionel was thrown aback by her answer. "Oh… truly? Why is that?"

"I prefer the cold."

"Ah… I see a true Stark then."

"And the people in the Capital are despicable," she added.

"I have to agree with you there. You've been in the capital, what? Two hours? And you've already discovered that. I'm impressed." They continued walking down the corridors of the Great Hall. "Do you have someone in mind?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to share?"

"No."

"Why not? I'd share with you the heads I wouldn't mind to see on a spike." She allowed a smile on her cold face and he took it for a good omen. The exited the Great Hall and the eyes of the watchful lords and ladies. There was no longer any need for formality; he disconnected their hands and they proceeded to walk separately. He, being a teenager and thinking he was impressive, started to walk backwards. "Let's see… Janos Slynt is an absolute arse… Petyr Baelish could put the whole country to the torch… and my stupid brother Joffrey wouldn't be missed by anyone except Her Royal Pain in the Arse The Queen."

He noticed how the girl's eyes sparked with loathing when he mentioned his deranged brother and queen. Of course the imbecile had screwed something up. Why did Lionel even dare entertain the thought that he hadn't? The queen was another matter; be what she may, she was his mother now and forever.

"So… you hate my brother? Well, that's going to make it hard when the two of you are in-laws. Have no fear my lady, we share a common ground when it comes to the Crown Prince."

"But he's your brother?" Arya reasoned.

"Tell him that."

"You are of one blood."

"We hate each other more deeply than our father hates the Targareyns… Pray, what did happen that caused your hatred, my lady?"

"Don't call me 'lady'. I'm not a lady. I don't want to be a lady. And most importantly, I am not yours." Her eyes turned into sharp icicles which could impale her enemies. He did not intend to become an enemy.

"My apologies. What do you wish to be called?"

It took Arya a few seconds to come up with an answer. "Arya. Just Arya, will do."

Lionel nodded. "Very well. If you so wish, Arya."

They continued to walk among the halls, exchanging a jest or two. Lionel also discovered that his fiancé wanted to learn how to swordfight and he promised to teach her some basic techniques sometime later. It occurred to him that she thought him similar to his twin brother. That assumption was not hard; the twins were after all identical. To besmirch their shared face even more, Joffrey had ordered the Stark family pets to be killed.

She was wrong though.

Lionel had vowed to himself in his youth that he would never be his brother's shadow.

-000-

Howland watched from the shadows as his master treated his new betrothed. The Maester frowned at the couple and glared at the shuffling in the curtains.

No doubt a Tyrell spy despatched to tell the Queen of Thorns about this.

 _Let them know,_ Howland thought. _Let the whole Kingdom know that the future king's wife is a Stark._


	3. Chapter 3

Margery Tyrell had been brought a letter from her grandmother on one fine summer's day as they were sitting in a pleasant gazebo overlooking the beautiful landscape of the Reach. The Queen of Thorns had always preferred to teach her grandchildren, especially granddaughter, power in her favourite part of Highgarden; or at least the least banal part of Highgarden.

"What is this, grandmother?" Margery asked, taking the letter.

"A spy report from King's Landing."

"We have spies in King's Landing?" She asked, although she had always suspected the fact. All players of the great game had spies in King's Landing.

"Indeed."

Margery looked at the broken seal of the Tyrell rose. Her grandmother had already read it and if the woman trusted her with the contents it was either she was ready for the game or there was bad news. She opened it and read to herself:

" _My Lady,_

 _The King and court has arrived to King's Landing. Stark is the new Hand. Baelish has left Westeros incognito. Loras continues to entertain Renly… sometimes the other way around. The Stag and Lion Princes have been engaged to Stark's daughters. The Lion Prince has a whore living in his chambers._

 _-Your Ever Loyal Servant."_

Margery re-read the last two sentences, careful not to betray her thoughts of surprise and slight horror to her grandmother.

"Don't bother hiding it, child, I know your feelings about it. To others you may have been viewed as a slow reader, but I can see through you like clear water. He is not to be prejudiced against, child. Lionel has not chosen his wife. Cersei hates the Tyrells for having raised her son so she's steered Robert to think of a bride as far from the Tyrells as possible."

"She should be grateful we raised her son so well," Margery muttered viciously. Her eyes were still glued to the report.

"Indeed, she should. But the Lions are a proud creature and the Lioness more so when it comes to her children. Robert ripped Lionel out of her arms. She hates Robert's so much there's no more room for hate left. Now she hates us." Olenna reclined in her seat.

"What about the whore?"

"He's a man, Margery, what do you expect? He may love you but he has physical needs. Sex for a man is strength. It's like meat in their meals. Especially, since he hasn't laid eyes on you in sixth months, my dear."

Margery sighed, resisting but acknowledging the fact. "So what should we do, grandmother?"

Olenna put her head on her palm and smiled slyly. "Well… what do you think we should do?"

-000-

Maester Howland was a man of hard disciplined habits.

Every morning no matter which bed he rose from or how late he went to bed, he woke up at dawn and was unable to return to sleep no matter how hard he tried. He would shave clean his face for any scratchy hairs that tried to invade his jaw overnight. Then, one hundred sit ups and squats, followed by breakfast.

Knowledge was knowledge, but it all meant nothing if he was bedridden with some kind of ridiculous common cold.

After soaking his sweat away with a wet cloth and tastelessly devouring his sustenance, Howland would proceed to read, for another hour, a trivial piece of literature of the history chronicles to warm his mind up for the day. Most often it was a religious text so that the brains of his muscle could starting working fast enough to criticise the work.

His chambers had always had two major characteristics: no walls and tidy. No walls because so many books piled up in his chambers, whether in the Citadel or in the Red Keep, that it was impossible to tell what colour the walls of his chambers were. Tidy because despite the exorbitant amount of books the Maester carried, he had always sorted them in a correct fashion. Partly to find them later and partly because he believed a messy atmosphere meant a messy mind.

"Maester Howland!" A servant's clumsy door banging interrupted the young Maester's morning reading, "Prince Lionel requests your presence."

Howland sighed, shutting the huge volume and placing it on his study. "Tell him I'll be with him soon." The Maester stood up from his rock-hard chair and proceeded to fasten the heavy metal chain of his great charge. Maesters didn't take their chains off, even when sleeping, but Howland did loosen and tighten it accordingly.

He once read a story of one Archmaester, wiser beyond his fellow scholars in the Citadel, who had so many links in his chains that he had strangled himself in his sleep with them. A wise man he had been, died in a very stupid way. Howland swore to not repeat the mistake.

For a moment, he looked at the metals of his mastery. He had not yet sworn his vows to any great keep and smiled at the reason for it.

He had befriended all the important and influential Archmaesters and the Seneschal, being the Prodigy of the Citadel it was no hard task. He had appealed to their great wisdom and experience of servitude and weeded out of them their lifetime regrets. Then he craftily begged them for the chance to travel the Seven Kingdoms. They warned him that he was so close to his first mask, ring and rod: the artefacts of an "Archmaester". He would be the youngest in history to become one, but he refused the honour.

Instead he chose to forfeit the honour for the chance to travel. And it was granted, on the condition he would return once a year to Oldtown, to be tested by the Maesters on his knowledge. If it faltered, they would reserve the right to keep him in the Citadel and he would swear to a castle immediately. If it remained true, he could go wherever he wanted. The clause was that he could do this only for five years, the fifth time he would swear.

Youngest Archmaester of all time! His mask, ring and rod would have been for his ingenuity in history, although if there was a metal for it, Howland was ashamed to acknowledge that it should have been for cunning and ambition.

He was even more ashamed, and every Maester would roll over in his grave if he heard about this, but learning was not his passion.

Yes, the Prodigy and Pride of the Citadel regretted begging his father in his youth to ship him off to Oldtown. He cursed his father for allowing a child to decide his fate at such a young age. A child! A babe of 7! Are babes renowned for sense, my Lord father? Although in his father's defence, the Lady must have had a hand in his easy passage to the Citadel.

A memory flashed in his mind for a brief moment…

" _Father, please! I beg you! Do you not have pity on me?!"_

" _Pity? What have you to be pitiful for?" His Lord Father continued to sharpen his sword with a whetstone. His eyes, never once leaving his craft, remained cold and unbendable._

" _For being a weakling," the small boy's eyes watered at the dreading thought of not having what he wanted. He may have been a bastard but the lordly self-respect was deeply rooted in him, even at a young age. "Father, the gods had deemed to make me a bastard and a runt and there are few opportunities left for a bastard. But the gods have given me a sharp mind. I need to use it."_

 _The Lord laughed. His young son didn't normally talk so grown-up. He had memorised pompous and high words from books to impress his father, he knew. Nevertheless, the Lord, smiling with pride, put his hand on his son's black head. "I promise, young Maester, that I will think about it."_

 _And he did. And before long he was on his way to Oldtown._

Howland tightened the long chain around his throat and left the chambers. It had been some years before he had allowed those thoughts to be brought to his mind.

-000-

The Prince was seated on his balcony, overlooking the Blackwater Rush. His chest was naked and sweaty, and the mistress lay sprawled in his bed sheet. A golden goblet was clutched in his fingers and blood red wine illuminated in gold.

"You wished to see me, Your Highness?" The Maester entered the room, walking past the drowsy mistress in her bed.

"Yes… do you play cards, Maester?"

"Rarely." The Maester allowed curtly and sat in the seat beside the Prince. "Gambling is not an art taught in the Citadel."

"I see." Lionel put the goblet down on the glass table and started to shuffle a deck of cards. "Do you know how to play Fools?"

"Yes."

Lionel set the cards around and they played like two equals. "Wine?"

"No thank you, Your Highness."

"Strange," Lionel said and watched the reaction of the Maester. There was none. His face remained frozen. The Prince prodded. "Do you not like wine, Maester?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It dulls the mind, weakens the senses, mocks ambition and kills the body. So, no, Your Highness. I do not like any harmful toxins in the body."

Whilst listening, the Prince was sipping the blood liquid. When listened, he put the golden goblet down and even though he didn't know it, he would, from now on, find wine repulsive.

"I got Littlefinger out of my way. He is sailing to the Dothraki Sea. The Seven Kingdoms are free of one ambitious snake, but only for a time. I need to cement the Iron Throne," Lionel put a very strong card down. They were each now down to two cars and Howland's task was to beat this one, if he could.

"And you are asking me for advice on how you can take the most wanted chair in the Seven Kingdoms," Howland studied his last card.

"It would appear so."

"To sit in a chair, it first needs to be empty. You're the second in line to the throne."

"That's not that far away from it. Only two steps to the throne."

Howland made his choice, although it was not really a choice, more of a winning hand. He placed his last card down and it triumphed in strength over all the cards in the pack. Defeat was certain for the Prince. "The moment your father dies there will be a bloody war for a reason that both you and I know. People have doubted your older brother's claim to the throne the moment he came out of your mother's womb, with his golden shroud, though none have dared to voice their thoughts. With the Warrior King gone, every man with a purse will want a crown on his head."

"No doubt the forces of my mother and grandfather will quash the opposition," Lionel scratched his forming beard.

"Or maybe someone will quash them," Howland reasoned. "Whoever is fighting, whatever battle numbers may be, whenever the chance, you need to be there. If you win the battle, your men will love you and they'll sing songs for your 'Lion's Bravery'. Then the people will love you; a great deal more than a brother who cowers in the walls of his Keep."

"What makes you think Joffrey will hide in the walls of his Keep?" Lionel reasoned.

"All spoilt brats and mommy's boys are craven." Howland looked at the forgotten card pile. "Are you going to make a move or are you craven of what cards you hold?"

Lionel smiled. "Why should I fear, when the cards I hold are the omnipotent?" He laid the last card, which was equal in strength to the Maester's and there was no victor of the game. They had ended the round with a stalemate, but little was thought of it, for the men restarted the cards and played again. And again. And again. Until they grew bored and decided to watch the Blackwater Rush instead.

"What if I die in battle?" Lionel voiced the thought that had been on his mind. His eyes glistened watching the water.

The Maester thought for a moment of how best to phrase his thoughts. He was skilled at reading and writing; words where a bit problematic for him. He was always slow in his speech when he talked, and when he did talk it was as if he was reciting a book or a text. "Then you die and all your schemes and plans remain unachieved, it becomes a burden to carry in your next life. If you don't fight, you will live in perpetual regret of what could have happened if you took the chance… We all die, my Prince, we just have to make the most of our time here. Making the most of your time would be wearing a crown on your head. If the gods wish it, they will preserve you in battle, dub you The Young Lion and maintain for you a bespoke legacy."

Lionel said no more, contemplating the Maester's words.

A servant brought them both some water.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, the Prince expressed the ardent desire to visit his grandfather in Casterly Rock. The King did not take this lightly. His anger boiled into a purple colour and his loud voice boomed across the halls of the Red Keep as he thundered at his son.

"You've spent half your life with the Tyrells!" Robert's gruff voice accused the boy standing at the bottom of the steps to the Iron Throne. "Since you came back home you've been running back to your Lion's Den every month! Some would think you are hardly my son at all, but Tywin Lannister's or Mace Tyrells!"

The dangerous comment put Lionel's teeth on edge. He knew that would bounce back to him when he was king.

"I wish to pay homage to the Lord that will one day bestow his lands, titles and gold upon me. He is my grandfather after all. And what great need do you have of me here? Cooped like a prisoner in this Keep?! Do you have a desire that I can carry out for you, Your Grace?"

The King glared at him. His fist whitened around his golden goblet. "Being. An. Obedient. Son!"

"Do tell me how I have disobeyed you, Your Grace!"

"By running out of my city, without my consent for it."

"I am asking for your consent, Father!"

The King's fury was overpowering. He had grown jealous of Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell for having the loyalty of his favourite son. While it was true that Robert lacked the patience for children and eventually got bored of them, when said children had grown and proven their bravery and fierceness to him, it was another matter.

"I should have sent you to the Starks," Robert muttered to himself, fuming. "Get out of my court, Your Highness, I'd hate for you to be late to your grandfather's table. Kiss his boots for me while you're at it! And give the Tyrells my thanks, for raising for me such a wonderful son(!)" It was obvious that Robert was drunk but now that he proclaimed the words he would never go back on them for fear of bruising his pride.

Lionel smiled and bowed, not lifting his eyes off The King. "I'll deliver the very words if I stop by Highgarden." And he left.

-000-

The Prince had left for a reason. The Maester had insisted to leave for Casterly Rock immediately, based on the speculation from his dear friend Varys.

"There will be a war soon, young Maester. I'm certain of it. The Lion will battle someone in a bloody war. Your brother will make sure of it," he told Howland as they walked in the catacombs. "You should make preparations."

"You're certain?... How soon do you expect it?"

Varys smiled, finding it pleasurable to know more than a future Archmaester of the Citadel, small victory as that may be. "Eddard Stark digs for the truth of his brother-in-law's death. The Tyrell's are whispering words into Renly's ear. The Targareyns have wedded themselves to a large Dothraki army. The Martell's despise the Lannisters and would never accept them as kings. And the queen… does aspire to place her firstborn onto the throne." Varys paused.

All this the Maester knew, of course. Humouring the eunuch was crucial to finding the secrets of the Red Keep, no matter how much the Maester found it despicable. "It seems war is inevitable then."

"The Lion Prince is a smart boy but he is so young and inexperienced in politics. He would make a fine King although I would council patience. A grown man would be even a greater king. Perhaps we can speed up that growing in the correct place and correct time." _Already did that, my Lord._

"I shall. I have the Prince's right ear. He trusts me."

"Careful, he knows I gave you to him. He isn't that stupid."

"I give him council and he chooses whether to take it or not."

"I see."

They walked on for a moment in silence before the eunuch sparked another topic. "I believe your family is in King's Landing, young Maester."

Howland walked on, not wanting to discuss the subject, but the eunuch was, as ever by his side. "Are they? I have not known. We Maesters take vows to forget our old families to serve our lords."

"But surely vows don't wipe away memories. I believe you were 7 when you arrived at the Citadel? Surely you remember something of your childhood."

Maester looked at the eunuch with his cold eyes, not betraying any emotion or thought. Perhaps that was what encouraged Varys to enrol him in his service: a formidable opponent in the Game. "I do, my lord. Of course I do. But you see, I don't remember any faces and when I try all that comes to me are the faces of my teachers in the Citadel." _I remember a name, though. A powerful name. Letters are harder to forget than images._

"I see."

They walked on and neither noticed the puny, wild, filthy girl hiding in the bones of the great beasts, listening to every word.

-000-

Arya Stark ran all the way to the Tower of the Hand to deliver what she had heard to her father. Her father, after being appalled at the state of her, chastised her for lying and being foolish. When she insisted that she did, his words were:

"Winter is coming. When the harsh winds blow the lone wolf dies while the pack survives."

Realising that it was futile to persuade her father of anything, Arya quickly ran to the chambers of her betrothed. She banged on the doors and when she lost her patience, she allowed herself it.

Inside she was met with the sight of her betrothed and a man in the grey cloaks of a Maester with a long chain around his neck. Lionel was scavenging about his room, pulling out of every secret compartment and drawer for belongings and chucking them inelegantly into his trunk. The Maester remained impassive, seated in a chair observing the Prince. They had been in conversation before she knocked.

Arya recognised the man from the Catacombs and when he looked at her, all that she wanted to tell her betrothed dried up inside of her throat.

"Arya? What are you doing here?" Lionel was surprised to see his betrothed charge into the room.

Her eyes never left the Maester's. There was something in them, something she mistrusted. They were mesmerising and unfamiliar. "Uh… um… I… I-I heard you were leaving," she stuttered out. The Prince crooked his eyebrow. "I wanted to wish you goodbye and a safe journey."

The Lannister was suspicious but he hid it with a warm smile. He walked up to her.

She had never realised before how much taller, and more imposing, he was. When he was standing a few inches away from her, her eyesight was level to his collarbone. She had to look up at him to see his emerald eyes.

"Thank you, Arya," he said and leaned in stole a kiss from her lips that she had not expected and would probably object to if he asked. Strangely, she liked the taste of his lips. They were savoury and soft. Shamefully, she wanted to do it again. "Is that all?"

"Uh…" Her eyes whizzed around, thinking. She jumped onto him, roping her arms around his neck, surprising him with her affection. "Meet me in the gardens. Alone."

She ran off then.

"She's… interesting," the Maester said. Stunned, Lionel nodded.

-000-

"You wanted to see me?" Lionel made her jump with his voice. She was waiting for him. He laughed at the panicked face she betrayed.

"It's not funny," she hit him, pointlessly. Her skinny hand wouldn't even leave a bruise. "You are going away."

"Will you miss me?" He smiled and crossed his arms. He'd kill to see her feel any type of remotely girlish emotion.

She snorted. "No."

He avoided her gaze. "Not even if I die."

She kept quiet for a bit. "No… but I know you won't die. Your Lannister guards would protect you."

He remained quiet on the subject.

She realised that although she didn't know her betrothed very well, he would be the only person she could imagine she wouldn't mind being married to. He had respected her wish to not be called 'Lady' even though it was within his rights to. They shared a hatred for Joffrey, although she imagined his hatred to be less intense than hers. He had even graced her with a few basic lessons of how to swing a sword, before her father had hired Syrio Forell.

Their union wouldn't be so bad.

If only he wasn't the spitting image of Joffrey and perhaps wasn't a Lannister, she could allow affection. But he had the prick's face and a name of child murderers and that made him hideous in her eyes.

"I heard something in the Dragon Catacombs."

He looked mockingly interested. "Oh really?"

"It's not funny. I did. I heard your Maester and a big fat bald man talking about how war is on every side. That my father was digging for something. That the Martells won't accept a Lannister king. That the King's brothers are conspiring or something with the Tyrells. The Maester said that he has your ear and the fat one said he manipulated you."

He did look deep in thought. His features were no longer of stupid jest and he actually looked like he was contemplating something. Something devious and scheming.

"Hm… that is hearing something worthwhile. Thank you, my—Arya," he said, lowering his head in a polite bow. Then he 'innocently' began to fiddle with his fingers and avoid her eye gaze. "Uh… um—"

Finding herself in a similar position only recently, Arya snapped at him. "Spill it out already!"

"This seems a little bit… forward… but will you do me the honour of giving me your favour?"

She studied him, suspiciously. "Who are you planning to fight?"

"Not any Starks, I assure you." Cautiously, she reached for a leather strip in her pockets and gave him as a favour. "Interesting favour," he laughed but still put it in his pocket. "I suppose for a tough girl a tough favour is naturally required."

She grinned. "Obviously!"

-000-


	5. Chapter 5

The Lannister Prince had arrived to the legendary keep of Casterly Rock in two days. He was welcomed by Lord Tywin himself, as well as a small party who accompanied him and a very special friend of Lionel's.

After the Prince was dismounted from his horse, a gold blur had knocked him off his feet and he was proceeded to be mercilessly licked by an adolescent, large and ferocious beast. Its massive paws and powerful muscles pinned the limbs of the boy and his saber-like, yellow teeth protruded in between the beast's licks.

"Ew, stop! Stop!... You disgusting creature, get off!" But the Prince could not help but laugh in delight at the warm, and slightly wet, welcome he received from his exotic pet. "Apollyon! I command you to stop!" The licking did stop, however the great lion decided to crush his master under his weight by lying on top of him. Since the beast was almost fully grown and with the weight in which he applied the Prince could not escape his pet's body.

Tywin rolled his eyes at the affection his grandson showed towards the wild, untameable beast. He frowned when the animal pounced on his master.

"He has grown since your last visit," Tywin simply stated, watching as his heir was playfully whacking the heavy paws of his beast.

"So I've noticed," Lionel smiled. He struggled but eventually ridded himself of the great beast's grasp. He stood up to greet his grandfather. "How have you been, my lord?"

Tywin turned his head. "Bring the Prince something to clean himself with. The beast's saliva is known to produce an odour." He turned back to his grandson and they started to walk to the Keep. "I've been well, Your Highness. I believe, while the King was on progress, he left you as his regent?"

"Yes, he did."

"What did it taste like? To hold power?"

If there was anyone in the world that wanted Lionel to be king more than Lionel himself did, the Prince believed it was Tywin Lannister.

"Very, very appetizing," Lionel grinned. To his surprise, his grandfather did not share the same enthusiasm.

"I've heard you have taken a whore to your bed."

The Prince was not surprised by the Old Lion's knowledge about the doings of the Capital and he had chosen to leave his mistress in the Red Keep with Maester Howland. He knew that his grandfather would not appreciate him tarnishing Casterly Rock with her presence.

"I left the whore in the brothel."

Tywin turned to his grandson. "You would call the Red Keep a brothel?"

"Yes. My father has worked tirelessly to give it that reputation over the last 20 years. Although, let us be frank, the Targareyns would also have mistresses and whores lurking around their Keep, would they not?"

"Casterly Rock should not, and you must know that. It is our pride and legacy. It cannot be turned into a lecherous and cheap brothel flowing with wine and piss, as your Uncle Tyrion would do, should he ever become Lord of the Westerlands; which," Tywin Lannister halted and the Prince nearly crashed into him, "he never will." They continued to walk. "You may be a better king than Joffrey ever will be but remember this: you never will. With you as King no one will inherit the Pride of our great house and our legacy will fade and be laughed upon in your uncle's hands."

"Surely a great Lannister King would ensure our family's legacy for generations to come?" Lionel questioned. This was the first time that Tywin Lannister had openly told him his disapproval of ambitions to become King, and the Prince was shocked.

"We will have a Lannister King: your older brother. Yes, he may be half-Baratheon, but he wears the proud lion as his sigil. He styles himself as Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister. He looks like a Lion. His children will do the same. And our great legacy will continue. King's come and go. One House after another. And another. And another. But our ancestral home must be protected at all costs."

The pain of rejection had wounded the boy and he remained quiet, biting back silent tears as they walked on into the Keep.

"Your destiny is to maintain the greatest, richest lands in the Seven Kingdoms. To provide heirs that will succeed you in greatness, to win great battles and lore to aid our family history. Perhaps, you may be Hand of the King. But never, do you hear, will you be The King." Tywin's hard gaze and harsh tone were crushing on the boy's dream.

The boy gave a stubborn chuckle. "You seem to entertain the idea that my nephews by my twin will keep the Baratheon-Lannister name. Do you know what was great about the Targareyns? They rarely married outside their family. So their children would never entertain the thought of a cross lineage or of adopting the names of other houses. And it was after all such a great name. When Joffrey marries and has an heir, that heir might decide to pride his father's names and his mother's. And then that child's maternal house and the next and on and on it will go. Sooner or later you will have a king with all the houses in his name. Or better yet, he'll start to drop the names of houses he is least related to like Baratheon or Lannister… the ones that were his first."

"How would that be different if you were king?" Tywin amused his grandson.

There was a pause as the Prince recollected his thoughts. "I would continue the Targareyn tradition and maintain the Lannister line of succession."

Tywin chuckled. "The Targareyns could get away with it because they were of Old Valyria, it was their tradition. And they were conquerors. No one dared to stand up to them. You are a Lannister, an Andal. You worship the Seven. The same royalties may not apply to you. Your people may be less willing to shut their eyes and endure—"

"Since when has the Lion ever concerned himself with the opinions of his subjects!" Lionel protested.

"Never. And he never will. But you father fought a Rebellion to stop the tradition and the succession of Mad Kings. That rebellion destroyed the greatest reigning dynasty the world had ever seen. Don't you think that could happen again?"

Lionel remained silent and spiteful of his grandfather. Never again, he decided, to confide in Lord Tywin. He would hatch plans on his own and hide the fire of his stars in black and deep desires.

-000-

"You look tired, Cersei… pray come to bed," Jaime purred, lying half-naked in bed. "It is unnaturally cold."

The Queen continued to pace about the room, biting her fingernails and pouring unhealthy amounts of wine repeatedly down her throat. "Does it not bother you?"

"What doesn't bother me?"

"Our son's distance from his family." When she saw her brother's confused look, she confirmed angrily. "Lionel, you fool!"

Jaime lay back and sighed. "Cersei…"

"He writes to the Tyrells weekly. He treats Tyrell's children as siblings. Highgarden is more of a home to him than The Red Keep or Casterly Rock. My spies say that Lionel, on his way to Father, had stopped for a week in his beloved flower garden." Cersei's poisonous eyes gleamed at the Golden Lion. "Don't you realise, that when a time comes and your son has to choose between his family and theirs, there is a chance that he will choose their side."

"I think you're overthinking this matter, Cersei." Jaime rose from bed, stark naked and embraced her from behind. "The boy has become a man. And you forget that he enjoys the luxuries that come with being a Lannister."

Cersei freed herself from his embrace, decided to not speak of their second born to him. Jaime was never smart or cared enough to understand anything of concern. Neither did he want to. He was rather like Eddard Stark; he wanted to run away and bury his head in the ground, not to be worried by any troubles of the world.

"Joffrey, on the other hand…" Jamie began but didn't continue, fearful of the fierce nature of his sister.

"What about Joffrey?"

"Nothing."

"Good. Nothing is wrong with my boy, or any of my children," Cersei insisted.

She left Jaime behind in the chambers, angry at him for his lack of care or action for his children's welfare and frustrated. She thought, even if showing fatherly love might condemn them, he should at least give a damn about the children.

"Your Grace looks tired." A cold voice startled her out of her burning fury. She turned to see a skinny, stern looking young Maester leaning on the wall. "If Your Grace so wishes it, I could give you a herbal tea to calm your nerves."

"Who are you?"

"A humble, obedient servant."

She studied him carefully, and he her. "To whom?"

He kept her gaze, dark eyes not leaving the venomous emerald orbs. "Your son."

"Joffre—"

"Don't be so presumptuous, Your Grace. Your second son, the Lion Prince would have more dealings with a Maester than your firstborn, don't you think?"

Cersei sighed. "What are you implying, young Maester?"

He gave her a false smile. "Nothing, Your Grace. Should I bring you the herbal tea? You do look rather distressed."

It had been a while since Cersei had met a servant as bold and recklessly youthful as this Maester. She gave him an equally cold and false smile. "Send the concoction and yourself to my chambers."

And he did, some half an hour later.

He came into the Queen's chambers with some wine, cherries and a flask that were the mixed herbs. He put the bottle and platter onto the bedside table. He helped himself to some glasses and poured the wine in and before his eyes poured the flask into one of the glasses.

The Queen herself was looking out of her chamber's window. The evening breeze lightly blew on her golden locks. The last rays of the evening danced off her flawless skin. She looked very beautiful.

"Pour yourself a glass as well, Maester," Cersei told him, not letting her eyes leave the city landscape. "I don't know what those herbs are."

"You believe this is poison?" Howland smiled, holding up the goblet of wine with herbs. She looked at him pointedly. The Maester smiled coldly and took a sip from the glass he was about to offer the Queen. "I value my life more than anything else in the world. It's the only thing I have. I wouldn't poison it if you held the whole world at a sword's point."

"Smart boy," Cersei took the goblet and drank. She then picked up a cherry and looked at it, then at his dark frozen eyes. She then reached out and put the cherry in the Maester's mouth. The Maester smiled and chewed. His pure white crunched the pearl that was the stone of the cherry before finally allowing passage to the fires of his belly.

The Queen smiled bitter-sweetly, placing herself on the bed and rolling the skirt of her dress up to expose a large portion of her leg.

"Have you ever had a woman, Maester?"

The Maester's smile disappeared. "Maesters vow celibacy."

"Doesn't mean they keep their vows."

"Well then…" The Maester poured himself a goblet of wine and another cherry. "We'll leave that to the imagination."

The rest of the night, the Queen was satisfied and even into the early hours of the morning.

Cersei sighed, laying naked on the bed. She never expected such vigour from the boy and his talents were surprising for a boy who swore celibacy.

"I need to get up soon," Cersei told the snoozing Maester. Her head was not dizzy, strangely, since they had drunk so much the last night. It must've been something in those herbs. "You must leave."

The Maester stirred, his brows crooked, his fairly handsome face screwed in displeasure. "No…" He moaned. "I want you… and I know that you do too." He rubbed his eyes. It was not yet dawn.

She had to admit; there was something about fucking someone other than Jaime. Not better. But different.

His arms wrapped around her waist. "Some stupid servant girl will come knocking." Cersei unbuckled herself from his grip.

The Maester shrugged. "What would it take to remain with you, my queen, in the comforts of these chambers?" Cersei thought about it for a moment. "To do as you pleased, Your Grace? To be free of the cage we find ourselves in?"

"The death of the king."

The Maester rose from bed and started to put his clothes on. He faced away from her. "I'm sure that a woman of your… talents can arrange something."

-000-


	6. Chapter 6

King Robert was dead. Murdered by a giant pig, the letter that came to Casterly Rock told the Prince. Robert's 'favourite' son's reaction was only a laugh. Lionel thought it very funny that his father, a pig himself, to be killed by a pig.

Tywin didn't ask, he only rolled his eyes and amassed a host, for Robert's brothers had both named themselves king, instead of Joffrey.

"I don't blame them, you know. Joffrey is pathetic," Lionel told his grandfather as they sat in his study when he received the letter.

Tywin glared at him. "Your uncles are in open rebellion. They both lay claim to the throne. They need to be put down. I don't care that Joffrey is king. I only care that my close of kin is being defied by another house. And you should too."

"Yes, yes, my _kingly brother_ has my full respect and loyalty."

"Your _Lannister_ -Baratheon kingly brother has your loyalty, if not respect. You will fight for him. Pledge your sword to him if you must, like the younger brother does to the elder."

"He's only older by a few minutes. Three, to be exact. In our mother's womb, he kicked first. He scratched me with a claw inside," Lionel pointed to a tiny faint scar on his chin. "And he demanded to be born first. Then I kicked, harder and harsher than he and nearly killed my mother with my birth. But I was born fighting. I was born bleeding. Joffrey was born easily."

Tywin Lannister rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in the tale of your birth. Joffrey is older and therefore the true king. We must raise a host and you will ride and lead against your uncle. You will do your duty. You will kill Tyrells on the battlefield, if you must. And when I'm gone and you are the Lord of Casterly Rock, you will fight for your brother and his children, like the honourable lord that you are." Tywin reminded his stubborn grandson. "Now if you excuse me, I am to call my bannermen."

Lionel silenced himself. He shouldn't have told his grandfather anything and vowed to never speak of his desire for the throne again to Lord Tywin.

Before long, Lionel found himself in Lannister armour, on a horse heading to King's Landing, with his pet lion by his side. His grandfather looked magnificent in his golden armour, on a white stallion with a great sword on his hip. The Old Proud Lion was at his prime.

They marched for two days and crossed the Reach.

"My lord!" A scout came running to the Warden of the West. He barged into a tent when the Western lords were in a meeting.

"Speak."

"The Tyrell forces gather on the Goldroad to cut off your march, my lord."

"How many?"

"Some twenty to thirty thousand soldiers."

"Anything else?"

"No, my lord."

"Be gone with you then." Tywin Lannister waved the scout away and turned to his generals seated around a long table. "Thirty thousand soldiers. We have sixty. Our spies have reported that Renly has on hundred thousand men at his command. What are thirty to him?"

"We should divide our forces," one of the sworn lords said.

"I agree. The defence of King's Landing is of paramount importance. The Tyrells are only trying to delay our arrival to the capital," another general told his liege lord.

"Indeed," Tywin said, stern as ever. "Our forces will be divided. I will lead forty-thousand to King's Landing—"

Lionel thought this was his moment. He rose and gained everyone's attention. "Grandfather, with your permission, I would like to lead the force against the Tyrells."

The gold flecked emerald eyes of the Warden regarded his grandson closely. "Why would you want that, Your Highness?"

"To prove myself to be your true heir, my lord. To show my loyalty to… my king and my readiness to slaughter traitors. I ask my grandfather to give me the opportunity."

"A boy to lead a host?" Clegane laughed and the others joined him.

The Lannister Prince's sharp glare silenced the Western lords. "Lord Clegane… was it not you that was bested by a Tyrell boy at the king's tourney? I can't imagine how you would fare against an army of Tyrells."

Gregor Clegane's face boiled with rage and if it weren't for Tywin Lannister's presence, the Mountain would have strangled the smaller boy with one finger. Lionel knew that.

Tywin Lannister chuckled, without smiling. "My boy has courage. A lion's pride."

"So, do I have your permission grandfather?"

The Warden and Prince regarded one another for a moment, before the Warden made his final decision. "Fifteen thousand men you will get under your command. Clegane will go with you and his men will compose the number of your fifteen thousand. You will destroy the Tyrell force on the Goldroad that is twice the size of your own and meet our host at the capital."

Lionel knew why his grandfather gave him this sentence. It wouldn't do for the future Lord of Casterly Rock to be at odd ends with an important bannerman of the Westerlands. They were to make their peace on the battlefield or perish. Tywin had no need for an heir that couldn't make peace with his bannermen.

As for the few men… Tywin wanted to see what his grandson's military mind was capable of. If Lionel could defeat an enemy twice his size, he would be as grand a general as his grandfather. Not to mention, if he was as grand as his grandfather, the king who despised him would be less likely to be rid of the best general he had.

"Thank you, grandfather."

-000-

Robb Stark stared at his mother. "Stannis and Renly Baratheon are rebelling? They've shamed their brother's memory by trying to depose their elder brother's trueborn son?" It was a message sent from his father, the Lord Protector and Regent of the Realm.

"It appears so," Catelyn said.

Robb Stark continued starring at the raven's message with disgust. He didn't like Joffrey Baratheon when he arrived in Winterfell, but he was the king by right and his father pledge fealty to him.

Honour and loyalty was of paramount value to Starks.

It was fortunate for Eddard Stark that Littlefinger left the capital. He didn't get any closer to the truth of his friend's, Jon Arryn's, death.

-000-

The Tyrells had a host that was twice the size of his own, what was more his second in command was a man that despised him.

Humiliating the Mountain was perhaps not his finest moment.

"We'll set up archers in the hills. They'll rain arrows on the Reachmen. Then our cavalry will charge. Foot soldiers will finish the job off. What do you think, Clegane?"

"We don't have those numbers of archers. Or cavalry. Or foot soldiers. That's the oldest tactic in the book, Prince."

Lionel smiled. "And what would you have me do, Clegane? You're more experienced at tactics than I am. Teach me your ways."

Clegane kept his eyes on the Prince. His massive, giant-like, hand took the rose token piece from the map laid down on the table. "Those soldiers think we are marching at them with your grandfather's full force. They know they will not survive. Their job is to delay and cripple the Western force while their brothers storm the capital."

"So you are saying they'll overestimate us," Lionel asked, circling the map of the Reach. "Then perhaps we should let them." In that moment, Lionel noticed two hills on the map. "We assemble on these two hills. Divide our forces, the hills will create the illusion of great numbers…"

Their meeting lasted for only a few hours, in fact, most of the meeting was conducted on horseback as the soldiers marched on the Goldroad through the night. Clegane gave his experience and… criticism, most often in the form of 'That's a shit idea, Lannister!', to ideas Lannister proposed and Lannister replied with either more ideas or a defence to his previous idea, 'Well it's better than your shitty idea, Clegane!'. Some hours later their battle plan was finally ready and just in time, because they were mere hours away from the battlefield.

With swiftness, the captains were all informed of their orders. The Lannister Prince even lined himself up at the front lines, even when Clegane rolled his eyes.

-000-

The battle was a bloody one, like all the first battles of boys.

Thousands of men died. Slaughtered and butchered with steel. Ridden down by horses, trodden and beaten down by their metal hooves. Spears pierced into their bellies and hoisted up into the air, spewing blood out of their mouths. Heads were crunched open with maces and the spikes quashed their brains with blood. Throats were sliced open with daggers. Men choked on their own vomit when they saw the sight of their brothers die horrible deaths. The lion, Apollyon, ripped someone's throat open. Froze with fear, too.

Death was most creative in its methods on the battlefield.

But not quite so creative when death came for Lionel Lannister.

An arrow lodged deep into the shoulder of the Lion Prince. Its aim was accurate enough to miss all the metal and leather of the Prince's armour and hit the weakest part of the armour. The point went so deep into the Prince's torso that it pierced his heart, splitting it two. The Lannister Prince was dead in minutes, once his heart stopped beating in his rib cage.

He fell from his stallion and onto the muddy field, to die with the soldiers that he had ordered to battle. To die. For his sick brother.

-000-

A mountain of a man rode up to the warm, muddy, bloody corpse of the Prince. He looked at the corpse for a while, sighed, then got off his horse, grabbed the body and pulled it onto the saddle of his horse. Grunting, he rode off to the commander's camp.

"Lionel Lannister is dead," Clegane shouted at a servant in the tent. "Write to his grandfather that he's dead. The man deserves to know. Tell him also that his grandson was victorious on the battlefield. He will forever be remembered as the victor at the Battle of the Goldroad. Tell Tywin Lannister all of his boy's glories. Tell him how the Tyrell forces broke apart. Tell him how many soldiers his grandson killed. Tell him that Lionel Lannister is his true heir."

The servant bowed and ran out of the tent.

"Boy!" Clegane shouted for another servant. "Prepare the body. We'll bring it with us to King's Landing." Clegane then called for a captain of his ranks. "How many men do we have left?"

"Approximately ten thousand."

"Good. The Prince's plan worked. We march at dawn to join with Tywin Lannister's forces."

"We have thousands of prisoners, my lord. What should we do with them?"

Clegane rolled his eyes and roared at his captain. "What do we usually do with prisoners?! Slaughter them, you fool."

-000-

The message came only after the siege. King's Landing was celebrating the defeat over the Baratheon-Tyrell forces with fireworks and feasts and the execution of Renly Baratheon. Wine flowed freely through the streets of the city. Women and girls kissed their champions, the soldiers, who saved them from a sacking and siege.

The moment occurred, when the king was hosting a banquet to all his courtiers. Joffrey was sat at the head of the table, with Tywin Lannister on his right hand. His mother on the left. His sibling on either side. Eddard Stark, the true hero of the city, was seated far from the king. It was no secret that the King hated the Warden of the North, he wanted to humiliate him as much as possible. The Stark girls were beside their father. But the Starks didn't pay attention to the insult; it was too good a time.

The raven came silently. Piercing the air of the banquet and landed on Tywin Lannister's shoulder. The Western Warden untied the message and read.

His face remained emotionless and cold, never changing throughout the whole feast. He only let one breath out and passed the raven message to Cersei.

"NO!" The moment she touched the paper and her eyesight touched the lettering, she threw the paper away, silenced the whole room. She stormed out of the hall in tears.

The King picked up the paper. He laughed when he read the contents. Then looked at all his guests who were waiting for an explanation in front of him. "It appears my dearest, beloved little brother, Lionel Lannister… has gotten himself killed in the Battle of the Goldroad." Everyone was appalled at the King's reaction to the tragic news, yet few showed their true feelings; the Starks and the Royal Children were the only ones. "It says that an arrow sliced his heart in two. He died a clean, merciful death." Joffrey picked up a cup of wine and raised it. "To my twin brother, the _Honourable_ Lion Prince."

Lords and ladies raised a goblet in return. The truer mourners of the Lion Prince either tried to understand his death, tried to say a silent prayer for him or spared their tears for him. One mourner, who worked in the shadows and wasn't present at the banqueting table, left the room with little time to spare and even less to mourn.

"He's… dead?" Arya's senses never received the information from Joffrey. She was too stunned. She saw confirmation in her father whose only reply was a solemn nod. Her mind went back to the favour she gave him and the fear of death he displayed the last time they conversed.

"The Mountain says he'll be bringing my brother's corpse with him. We can send his head to the Tyrell girl, I heard those two were very good friends," Joffrey said, displaying his true colours of cruelty to the rest of the court.

Ned Stark looked at the king is horror. He rose from his seat. "You would have your brother's corpse butchered, Your Grace? After he fought so valiantly for your cause?"

Joffrey was not amused. His face contorted into a vicious scowl and he too rose from his high seat. "My brother hated me before he even came into this world. He's always hated me because I was born first and he second. Now it's my turn for revenge."


	7. Chapter 7

"Maester?" The girl, the farmer's wife, was dragged by the Young Maester to his deep, dungeon-like cell. His tight bone coloured hands clutched around her wrists like iron gauntlets. He was a strong and unyielding man by character but not by strength, yet right now he was as strong as Robert Baratheon. "Maester, where are we going?"

"Down," he said simply, in an agitated tone.

He opened the rotting door and they entered the dingy room that was more a library than his chambers. Something foul and sour was boiling on a table, amidst the scrolls and books which also resided on the table.

The farmer's wife had never been inside the Maester's chambers and she felt like it was not accustomed to guests either. She doubted her Prince had ever entered this room either. Only this Maester had ever entered and left before.

"Make yourself comfortable," Howland said. The Maester cleared a stool from his pots and scrolls and pointed to the seat. She made her comfort. "I assume you've heard… the Prince is dead. Killed in battle." She did indeed. She had went to the Sept and prayed for his soul. The girl mourned the boy that had given her so much.

"Yes, Maester. I… I've been very lonely since he… departed. I've mourned for him." The Maester began pouring some wine in one cup and some water in his own cup. "He was a good man, Lionel." The Maester gave her a cup of wine.

"Indeed. Drink up." He took a swing himself at his own cup, of something that was not wine.

"Is this what you brought me down here, milord? To toast to a dead boy?" She watched the Maester's cold smile form on his lips.

"Did you love him?"

"Why, yes, Maester. I believe I did."

He chuckled. "You believe? Curious. Love is a thing you know. It is either you do or you don't," he said, coldly. "…I'm told," he corrected himself. "So I ask you again… did you or did you not."

"I… I did," she said, still unsurely.

He smiled, in a somewhat less chilly way. "Good. Then you would do anything to bring him make to life?" He put the cup down on the leather of a large book.

"Uh…" There was something about his deep and dangerous eyes that provoked fear in the girl. She stumbled with uncertainty under his gaze. "Of… course, Maester."

"Good." The Maester put his hands on the arms of the chair, shackling the girl's wrists to the chair with his gauntlet hands. "Then you'll understand why I have to do this. For our last hope of a good king." For the splice of a second, Howland let go of her wrists. A blade slid out of each of his sleeves. His fingers clasped their handles and he drove them into the farmer's wife's wrists.

She screamed out in searing pain. A blood fountain ejected out from the delicate wrists. Red drops and pools spewed themselves across the Maester's face. She screamed out at him and fear, rightfully filling up with dire fear.

"NO… NO! No please! What in seven hells are you doing?!.. I don't love him... I did what he asked of me!" She screamed louder and yet even louder. No one, but the Maester, could hear her pleas.

The Maester performed some kind of ceremony. Some kind of black magic. When the pain dulled and her senses restored, she looked up at her captor. He wasn't chanting or dancing around the room or speaking some strange language like she had expected a man doing magic might do. The Maester was doing what he did best: studying a book.

The dingy, grey man stood with a leather-bound book in one hand, and writing something with a pen in the other. He wasn't very concerned about the blood on the floor, on his books and scrolls, on his face. He was not concerned with the bleeding, dying prisoner of his either. He only cared for the ink and paper.

"What do you intend to do with me?!" She shrieked at him, one the pain dulled slightly.

He shut his book and proceeded with researching into another book. "The wisest men who ever lived knew that only death can pay for life." When the meaning of the words finally clicked in the girl's brain, her fear increased tenfold. "Oh don't worry. Your death will be quick and painless."

The moment finally came. He had done his magic or whatever else it was that he did and walked up behind her. He came silent as a night owl, with a dagger in hand, and slit the girl's throat so that blood would flood the floor and his wrists. So many textual works perished in the girl's blood and the Maester paid them little heed.

Once it was done, he dropped the dagger to the ground and looked upwards, where the sky would have been instead of the red rock of the Keep.

"Lionel Lannister… you will awake, my king. Rise as the Steelheart. The Golden King. Rise to make your enemies break. Rise to enforce justice. Rise to take what you desire." There was a beat of dead silence. "… but not before I say the word."

-000-

It was easy to find Cersei Lannister. She was with her dead son's lifeless mass in the Great Sept of Baelor. It seemed these days that she had permanently relocated to Baelor's Sept, to constantly stand vigil over her son's corpse.

The boy's father was nowhere to be seen, but Howland was sure that it wouldn't be too hard to find Jaime Lannister.

"What do you want?" Cersei's viciously biting voice startled the Maester. He had entered the Sept with the silence and cunning of a snake and she had not turned her head, yet she could feel an intruder. "And how did you get passed the guards?"

"Your Kingsguard are not as great knights as you believe they are," Howland said. He made no attempt to approach the Queen. Sane men didn't approach mad, grieving mothers when they mourned for their son. "What I want is something both you and I share in common… that boy to raise from the grave."

She laughed cruelly. "Oh… and you have a way to do that, fool?"

He willing chose to approach her, against his better judgement. "I wouldn't insult someone who did know how to resurrect someone from the dead. I may be your last hope of returning your son."

Her head snapped to his direction. Her eyes were wide with hope and anger because she wanted to believe it and at the same time knew that it was not possible. But she would not forgive herself if she didn't ask. "What?"

"Do you want your son to rise again?"

"Of course! You fool?! What mother wouldn't?"

"What if I told you it was possible?"

"I'd call you a liar."

"Then I would call you a bad mother," and Howland left the Queen to her moping mourning.

-000-

After days of pondering and weeping over the corpse that she had for so long refused to conduct a funeral for, it was time the Queen took matter into her own hands.

She slammed into the crammed little room that the Maester had been given by the King's chamberlain, two Kingsguard on either side of her. She paid no mind to the butchered rotting corpse in a chair, pushed against the corner of the room. She paid no mind to the odours and filth and blood in the room. All that was on her mind was her son's life and the last hope that the dingy little Maester gave her of it.

"What did you mean?!"

The Maester had been pouring over a book. Golden spectacles hang over his pointed nose and a tome was in his hand that looked hardly light enough for the frail little Maester to carry. His eyes were bloodshot; he had not slept in days. "It took you some time, Your Grace."

"You said you could bring my son back?"

"Yes… I did. And I can. But there is a price…"

"You'll have gold and castles and women… whatever you want, just bring him back!" She screamed. "… please… " That word had been so light it barely touched the woman's lips, yet the young Maester heard them nonetheless.

"That's not the price that life demands. Only death pays for life."

A sudden surge of horror ran through Cersei Lannister's bones. "M-… my death?"

"No. That duty she," Howland pointed to the bloody corpse decomposing in the room, "had achieved—"

"Well, why is my son not awaken then?"

Howland smiled. There was leverage in his power. He could have anything. Any riches. Any lands. Anything in the Queen's power, and that power stretched further than Howland could imagine. The agents that he worked for, mystical as they were, could grant the Lion Prince's life back the second Howland would speak the word, without any promises. "Because I need a blood promise to bring him back," Howland outwardly lied to her face.

"What blood promise?"

He regarded carefully his choose of words. "A marriage, from both of the Prince's parents."

"Robert Baratheon is dead."

"Oh come on. Do you think I am as blind as everyone else in the world? Let's speak truthfully. Your guards won't hear us if you speak softly. Jaime Lannister needs to leave the Kingsguard, take residence as his father's heir. He will wed Sansa Stark. You will wed Robb Stark. You will fulfil these promises within three moons or you will lose your children in a most horrifying and brutal way a mother can possibly lose her children."

"And what will happen if I declare you blasphemous and have my guards drag you out and throw you from Maegor's Holdfast into the pit of iron spikes?" She tested the water.

The Maester smiled. "You will lose one simple Maester undistinguished from the thousands of other Maesters… and never again hold the chance to bring your dead child to life. All because you and your brother squirmed at the mere thought of two small sacrifices." He made sure that his words linger in the air and that the Queen thought about them, for if she didn't, he would be dead before the morrow. The Maester had too much to live for to have any of that. "Wouldn't it be worth it? Two marriages for your son."

There was a perpetual silence as the Queen imagined her son in the cold darkness of death. Her little boy all alone with all those ghosts and other creatures that roamed the world of the dead. It broke her stone heart to imagine her baby wandering death alone.

"I will promise… and he rise at this very moment? And Jaime and myself have three months to marry the Stark House?"

"Well, bring your brother in here and swear to me the oath… or in a Lannister's case, announce an owed debt. And you will tuck your son into bed this very night, feeding him with chicken soup as he whispers to you 'thank you, mother, for saving me. I love you more than anything in the world and I'm sorry for my sins'."

Every creature in the world had a heart prone to suffering and love alike. The Queen's suffering and love was all in one face: her children. She left to find her brother almost immediately.

It sickened her to see how her lover didn't jump at the opportunity to bring their boy back. He insisted on seeing this Maester himself and made no promises of oaths or debts. Cersei paced and waited outside, as humiliating as it was.

"Ser Jaime… we finally meet." There was something awkward in the air between two men who fucked the same woman.

"So it seems, Maester…"

"Howland."

"And you second name?"

The Maester laughed coldly. "I have no second name. I've sworn some vows… some words that I must keep now and I assume you have come to swear some words too."

"I'm not good at keeping something as… impermanent as words."

The Maester chuckled. "Perhaps… I think we both agree that words are quite foolish concepts. But that's a question for the philosophers… or well me, since that's my profession… not knights." Maester shifted in his throne made of wood and books. "Do you love your children, Lannister?"

"Why… yes."

"Well. Would you do anything to save them?" Jaime didn't answer. "Funny thing about love. You see that girl there?" He looked at the corpse behind the Kingslayer at the stinking corpse. "She was Lionel's whore. I asked her if she would do anything for Lionel. She said yes and disowned her words the moment she felt pain." The Maester chuckled. "I can only imagine what Lionel would have done to her if he heard her say those words. And I can only imagine what Cersei will do to you if you refuse to save your son… She may love you but she doesn't love you nearly as much as her children."

Jaime Lannister's teeth grinned together in tight agony. "I would rather be consumed by maggots before I beg Eddard Stark for anything."

"Would you let your son be consumed by the same maggots?"

The Kingslayer smirked. "You're a clever little man… you remind me of my brother, Tyrion. You would have liked him, he's decided to become a tourist and visit the Wall."

"Admirable. I too loved travelling, once. But being the wind is a tiresome profession."

Jaime pulled a chair out of the table and placed himself level to the Maester. "What is the wording of the debt?"

"I will bring your son back to life. You will quit the Kingsguard and wed Sansa Stark, within three months. Your sister will wed Robb Stark, within three months. If you do not honour this agreement the other three of your children will die gruesome deaths. While you honour your agreement and stay married to the Starks, your children won't die."

"One son or three children. Doesn't seem like a good deal to me. Why should I risk my other children for the life of one?"

Howland smiled and leaned forward, over the table. "I can't imagine. Mathematics and chance rule against this. But a father's or mother's feelings can't measured by mere numbers." Howland reclined back in his seat. "I hope you make your mind up soon, Lannisters. There's only so much time I can afford to hold the realms of the living and the dead close together."

-000-

When Cersei walked into the Sept again, she saw that her boy was still dead on the table. Two stones rested on his closed eyeballs and he had not moved an inch. She was absolutely livid to find herself a fool in the boy's game. She raged like a storm; her anger was limitless. Guards fled to let the mother mourn.

"That worthless cunt!" She tore down the crimson and gold draperies that decorated her son's table. "I'll butcher the bastard myself!"

A croak squawked from the throat of someone. It was barely anything, but the high ceilings of the Great Sept validated it to the mother's ears. And then again. And again. The croak repeated from her son's throat. "… mo…th..er…" The croak grew, bit by bit, louder and more prominent.

And she knew her boy would live.


	8. Chapter 8

"So… what have I missed while being dead?" Lionel asked his betrothed. He was perched up against a mountain of crimson and gold pillows, still weak and frail, and he was being fed by a servant maid some soup. He had asked Arya to come and talk to him. Apparently, he had gotten bored being confined to bed.

Apollyon was sleeping at the foot of his bed, with his aura guarding him dutifully from any ills. It made Lionel smile that Arya didn't mind the presence of the deadly beast; it was just like a direwolf after all, she told him.

"Renly Baratheon had tried to breach the city… so there's that."

The spoon halted halfway to his mouth and almost spilled the hot contents onto his bare chest, as he turned to look at her with an expression of a blank face. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Arya twisted in the seat that she had been sitting in. An oak stool with red damask for pillows and lion heads carved onto the arms. For a moment she wondered if the Lannisters truly felt it necessary to stick a lion on every chamber pot they owned. At Winterfell, direwolf banners were plenty and direwolf statues with other tokens littered the premises, but she could safely announce that not every chair shared the likeness of a wolf. If she ever became Lady Lannister, which was a notion she deeply dreaded, she knew she would find herself sick of lions and red and gold very quickly.

"The Redwyne fleet had sailed from Storm's End with 100,000 Reach and Storm men. The wind had delayed their voyage as it happened. Tywin Lannister had set the Blackwater ablaze with an ancient store of wildfire. A single ship sailed out, spilling wildfire into the water and all it took was one flaming arrow to ignite it. The fleet burned in green fire."

"Where did he get wildfire?"

"The pyro-maesters had never destroyed their remnants of wildfire from the days of the Mad King. It seems like they know how to make wildfire, but not how to destroy it. Jaime Lannister randomly remembered of how King's Landing almost burned during the Rebellion as they were planning the defence of the walls. It gave your grandfather some idea."

"Surely there were some survivors?"

"Your grandfather's 45,000 men finished them off."

Lionel chuckled. "Of course he did. Why did I even have to ask?" His thoughts were racing and in a few short moments he turned to her and smiled, somewhat sadly. "What was my twin brother's reaction to my death?"

Arya had remembered Joffrey's reading of the letter. She remembered her disgust of the young king too. "He said he would serve your head to… the Tyrell girl… something about you two being friends?"

The Prince's smile diminished into true sadness. "I fight and die for my brother and he repays me with butchery and dishonour." He turned to Arya with eyes as cold as steel. Ever since his ressurection there had been an inhuman coldness about him, she noticed. A laughing, happy boy turned into a cold and sharp man. Arya wasn't completely sure if she liked this new side of him, and suddenly she craved to glimpse the old him. "I still feel it you know… the arrow point in my chest. Some moron took the arrow out but thought little of the arrow point." He continued to sip the soup the servant girl spoon-fed him with.

They nicknamed him the Steelheart because of the arrowhead that split his heart in two parts. He claimed he could hear two beats when he breathed. Arya wasn't sure she could believe him about that..

"Is there something on the other side? When you're dead?" She couldn't resist the urge to ask. Death was the mystery of life, one that every creature would one day discover in his time but not before; curiosity only wanted that time to come closer.

"The other side?" Lionel asked, confusedly, gulping down another spoonful. "There is no other side… only a dreamless sleep." His answer seemed to frighten her; and a frightened Arya Stark was something he did not see every day. But he supposed that all creatures feared death, lions and wolves alike, no matter how brave or fierce their nature was.

"Leave us, girl. Bring me some berries for desert… and some Dornish wine." The servant obediently rose, bowed and exited the chambers, when she began to take the soup away, Lionel spoke up. "Give my lady the soup. She'll help me finish it. I'm famished." A mischievous smile spread across his face.

She stared at him, wondering how much nerve that boy had! "I won't!"

"Is that disobedience of your prince, I hear?" At least he was smiling, she thought. They said he seldom smiled anymore.

"Well… duh, you idiot!"

The servant girl was certainly shocked to hear her rude address of the Prince. Lionel however, had made it his mission to bend her will into his own. "You would let your Prince starve, Stark? Because you wouldn't swallow your pride to feed him?"

"The Prince has hundreds of servants that can feed him. I'm no servant."

Lionel smiled, somewhat impressed. _She could yet become a formidable queen_ , he thought, _she bends for no man, not even me_. "Perhaps I should have you whipped through the streets for your insufferable disobedience."

"Oh, bother." She noticed that the servant girl was still there. "What are you waiting for? His High Arrogant Majesty ordered his berries and his wine."

Just as she said that, the door opened and Cersei came in. The Queen gave the Stark girl a poisonously sweet smile. "Would you mind giving my son and I the room?"

Arya stood up to leave, not wanting to be the one to cross the Queen, but her hand was suddenly seized with the Prince's cold, weakened grip. "She. Stays. Here. Mother." His warmth drained from his body the moment his mother stepped in.

Cersei and Lionel glared at one another, trying to assert dominance, neither succeeding.

Arya decided to break the ice. "Perhaps I should leave… my dancing master will be waiting."

Lionel sighed and there was a disappointment in the look he gave her. With her in the room, Cersei wouldn't dare discuss her schemes, or the future, or reality. But he seemed to have realised that if she stayed it would only be more awkward for everyone and so let her go. His mother always got what she wanted anyway.

Cersei waited until the door behind Arya clicked shut.

"You like this girl?" She asked, walking straight to the flagon of wine and the goblets.

"She has spirit… which is more than I can say for the ladies of court. Stubborn. Proud. Defiant. And abiding a deep rooted hatred for rules. She reminds me of you, mother."

Cersei looked at her son. "That's good to hear. Someone will have to aggravate you when I'm gone."

Lionel tensed. "You don't aggravate me, mother. You're just… my mother." When her lip twitched in her way of a laughing smile, Lionel continued speaking. "Let us speak plainly. What do you want, mother?"

"Do you really want to marry the Stark girl?"

"I don't believe princes and lords ever get the choice… but she's not the worst option." Then, just to push his mother's boundaries, Lionel added: "Our marriage wouldn't be anything like yours and father's. She's wild and stubborn enough to stop me from whoring and drinking like father. I'm not fool or blind enough to let her slip into the same mad trap that you fell through. She may not love me and I may live my life loving a woman I cannot have; but we could make this work."

She seemed impressed by his answer, although that was hard to tell of the great Lion Queen. "I see." She gave her son a cup of wine. "You're faring better?"

"I'm alive. Howland told me I have you and Uncle Jaime to thank for that."

"You should thank him… You should also thank him for the growing alliance with the Starks that we are forging. It gets stronger every day." She was evidently not pleased about it. "Did he tell you the price of your life?"

"No… but I'm curious to hear."

"I'm to marry Robb Stark. Your Uncle Jaime is to leave the Kingsguard marry Sansa Stark. I was surprised he didn't ask for Marcella to be wedded to their second son. Or their third son to any unborn children. Oh, and while he's at it, why not wed their bastard as well into the family?"

"We obviously do not have enough family. Perhaps you and Uncle Jaime can make more… resurrect some more dead if one of your precious children die?" Cersei lifted her hand to slap her boy, but the hand never slapped… only hovered. She couldn't hurt her witty boy; the only child of hers who hated her. He grinned when he pinched into her weakness. "How are you going to arrange a marriage to a man whose family hate and mistrust our family? I'm amused to know."

"You managed to get yourself into an engagement with the Starks—"

"I didn't, it was the king. And thanks to father, who happened to be a good friend of Eddard Stark and basically ordered the engagement whether the Starks liked it or not."

"All men have a weakness. Eddard Stark's is his family and honour."

"I have every confidence you'll not fail to find a way on exploiting that," Lionel pushed himself up on his elbows, frailly.

Cersei shared no more of her schemes with him. Perhaps she hadn't fully formed them yet, or maybe they were schemes the little Prince didn't want to hear, whichever it was she decided to shock her son with her next words. "Your grandfather, the Hand of the King, has decided to name you the new Master of Coin."

"What?" Lionel's sharp emerald orbs gleamed at his mother.

"I thought I should deliver to you the message. Considering your prowess in battle and your contribution to the Crown's interests… and perhaps as a healthy experience of managing money… the king has named Master of Coin as a reward for you service. Since it was you that got rid of our old Master of Coin it seems very fitting that you fill his shoes. The King and Hand expect you to perform your duties as well, if not greater, as your predecessor."

"I sincerely doubt the king would name be Hand of the King… then again, he wouldn't notice would he? Has he attended any Small Council meetings?"

Cersei rolled her eyes, knowing what her son was alluding to. "No."

"Thought so."

With the goblet still in hand, Cersei made for the door. "Your position's accountancy books will be brought to you shortly."

"Has grandfather forgotten that I'm in very poor shape?"

"You're the Master of Coin… not a soldier. You can do your job from bed if you need to. Your days of being a soldier ended with your death. You will never step on a battlefield again."

-000-

Eddard Stark sighed for the seemingly billionth time during his stay in King's Landing. The dealings of the realm were taking a toll on his mind, and his bickering daughters were not helping it either. Sansa had insulted Arya's Dancing Master and the wild girl fought back. Septa Mordane had long given up on them; besides they were his responsibility at dinner time.

"You're stupid!"

"You are a fool!"

"I hate you!"

"Shut up!"

"Enough!" He yelled at both girls and they fell obediently silent. Eddard Stark threw down his gloves on the table and sat himself down, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "As if I don't have enough problems. The realm is heavily in debt. The king is a foolish, reckless boy. Bran is slow in recovery. King's Landing is a wreck after the Battle of Blackwater. Tywin Lannister ruled the country in truth while I and Joffrey rule it in name and that can't be a good thing… and what do I come to supper to? Two bickering girls who are fighting for one pointless thing or another!"

They remained silent, realising their own selfishness.

"My Lord," Jory walked into the chamber. "There's a person that wishes to see you."

Ned groaned; he had thought he was done with business for the day. "What person?"

"He didn't give a name… only that your meeting is important and that you'll want to see him."

That was strange, Eddard decided. "Very well, let him in." Jory bowed and left to bring the stranger in.

A young man came through the door, dressed in the Maester robes and wisdom and power, but from the aura of dishonour, Eddard Stark knew he was no true Maester. A pretender. A shadow of a snake to the great, ancient order of the Knights of the Mind.

Eddard Stark hated dishonourable men.

… and the Young Maester knew that much and still chose to meet the Wolf.

"My lord Stark." His words were sharp and sparing. "I apologise for interrupting your meal."

"You are?"

"A simple Maester… not yet sworn his vows to any keep."

"I'd know your name, boy?"

"My name is of little consequence, my lord. I am here on particular business, though… if we could speak in private."

Eddard looked at his two daughters. He rose from his seat and gestured to his solar. The young Maester followed him inside, after flashing a meaningful look at the two girls. Sansa thought nothing of it, he was just another man who had business with her lord father; Arya knew the man was up to something. He was not a man to be trusted.

"What is your business, Maester?"

"I want you to know that I am a great advocator of your family, my lord. I believe that soon you will be brought an offer you will despise with all your heart. It would be in your best interests to accept the offer."

"What offer?"

"A marriage to the Lannisters."

"My youngest daughter is already engaged to one. Why more?"

"The Lannisters are the most powerful family in the realm. Tywin Lannister is the Hand. Even if Joffrey becomes a great and sane king, which no one believes will happen; he favours his mother's house more than Robert's. He's more Lannister than Baratheon. And in case you haven't noticed, my lord, he despises the Starks. A victory over the North will immortalise him; it's what he's always dreamed of: glory to his name. You need more than an alliance Lionel Lannister. The boy is amiable, but Joffrey will murder him the first chance he gets."

Eddard Stark looked deep in thought.

"How do you know this? You're a Maester, not even serving anyone."

"I have my talents."

Eddard Starks's eyes squeezed together in suspicious. "Who are you?"

The Young Maester smiled. "I am an owl perched in the high tree, sleeping with one eye open, watching silently the lips and steps of prey on the ground below. Occasionally, I hoot to signal my coming to the prey, because fear makes the game that much more exciting. Most often, I strike silently, not to risk anything. Because the owl has two duties. The first is to always bring the fruits of my plunder to the nest, so that they don't starve. The other is to protect the nest, so that the family lives on." He paused for a moment, his eyes lifting from the Stark's gaze. "But whether or not the inhabitants of the nest learn to fly, risking to plummet to their deaths in the process, is entirely up to them."


	9. Chapter 9

When Tywin Lannister first entered the chambers of his grandson, he was greeted by the sight of his grandson making progress on being able to stand up. Leaning on two sticks of steel, Lionel's feeble legs wobbled as his feet made contact with the marble floor. He hissed harshly; the pain was exhausting on the youth. His recovery was slow in coming.

"How are you feeling?" Tywin's stern voice didn't move Lionel from his mission of standing.

"As you… can see." Lionel's feet were flat on the ground and his face was turning a suffocating shade of purple from the pressure.

"You are strong." Tywin commented, watching his grandson struggle for life and strength. "As strong as your father."

That, made Lionel's hand slip from the cold steel, and he toppled to the ground, the sleeping weight of his legs pulling him down like a sinking boat. "I'm nothing like the stinking boar. And don't you dare call me anything like him again!"

Lionel was in his proud state, and Tywin dared not flare him. "Of course." The Heir to Casterly Rock thrashed to stand up, not be seen as weak by his grandfather. Tywin walked up to his grandson's form and with an iron grip, took the Prince by the collar of his shirt. He lifted the 16 year old boy onto the bed, without so much as an effort. "What do the Maester's say about your recovery?"

"The Maesters pronounced me dead. The lot of them are bloody useless. I make my own recovery."

Tywin nodded. "Well said. Now, pressing with the issue that I came with: I almost lost my heir." The Old Lion paused. "I think you know what that means for you."

Lionel chuckled. "You'll tell me that I need to wed as soon as I recover. So that I could make you a great-grandfather and cement your hopes of a legacy to last for thousands of years."

Tywin advanced to the flagon of wine and started to pour two cups. "More or less."

"None, for me grandfather. I don't drink anymore." Lionel noted the proud look in his grandfather's eyes. He sighed. "Something tells me I won't like this conversation."

"You're betrothed to the Stark girl… but she's not yet had her blood. She's eleven years old. She could have her blood at any point between now and her sixteenth nameday. By the time she does you could already be a father."

Lionel leaned his head back and starred at the ceiling. "So you are going to act as my saviour and dissolve my engagement to Arya Stark?"

"I'll find you a girl that has already bled and is much better gifted in looks. I've seen the youngest Stark girl and the future Lord of Casterly Rock could do better. Oh she may be fierce as you claim and I like her character well enough, but she will not be enough for Lord Lannister."

Lionel's eyes grew sharp. That insult to his betrothed was an insult to his very own proud person. "Take. That. Back." Tywin turned to him, slightly surprised. "You insult what's mine, you insult me."

"Admirable. That is what you shall say to anyone but your grandfather."

"Making exceptions like that is precisely what creates cracks in a Keep to make it crumble."

It was amusing to watch two unstoppable forces clash together in a battle of wills. If there had been any spectators, it would have been at least. But there weren't. And so there was only a stale battle of wills.

"You shall recover. And fast. That is a command." Tywin Lannister left.

-000-

"Lord Stark!" The Queen called out to the northman as he rested in the royal gardens of the Red Keep. "Beautiful day isn't it?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Very sunny."

"The stresses of being regent seem to be taking a toll on you, Lord Stark. You don't look well."

"I'm still well enough to serve the king and do my duty."

Cersei nodded and walked beside the northern lord. "May I walk with you?" He nodded. "It's a funny thing isn't it; duty? The lengths we go in order to protect the ones we love, to uphold our family's legacy."

"And for our honour." Their eyes wandered into the picturesque view of fountains and lilies and flowers and statues and lagoons of beauty.

"Yes, I suppose there's that too." She looked him in the eyes. "I hope you understand what I mean?"

"Is this a threat, Your Grace?"

"More like a warning, for both our families. A war will be coming for this kingdom soon. We need to make alliances. The whole North and West united. Then there's also the Riverlands that you are married to and the Vale of Arryn which your wife shares blood with. That's four out of seven kingdoms united against any threat. But for that to happen there needs to be an alliance."

Ned looked at her, confused. "I don't understand. Two of my daughters are engaged to two of your sons. Is that not enough?"

"It would be, normally. But my sons are reckless, as you've seen. One died and came back to life by miracle only a week ago. The other…well, let's be truthful; he's… impossible to control. He changes his mind in a moment's notice and behaves with dire cruelty." It pained Cersei to talk of her children this way, but she had a mission to complete and she never went half way.

Eddard had to admit, there was plenty of truth in that. He witnessed with his own eyes how Joffrey skinned a cat with a butter knife in the privacy of his chambers only for the sake of pleasure. "So what do you suggest?"

"Another union. Your son and heir, Robb, to me."

Stark was genuinely surprised. He doubted that was possible, but the Lannister woman had been full of surprises. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me right." Cersei avoided eye contact. "Our families need a strong union, and I would rather perish than let my youngest children marry so young. My girl is 11 and my youngest son is 9. Too young."

Eddard sighed. "You'd ruin my son, like you ruined your first husband. Why should I consent?"

"My first husband was a man who drank and whored and had little honour. You Starks are famous for your staunch honour and it is said that honourable men breed men with even more honour. Is it true?" Flattery was not a skill Cersei used often, if at all, used but in circumstances as dire as this, it was necessary.

"Aye." Eddard said proudly. "All my sons are noble and honourable. And you would be lucky to be married to him." He paused and allowed the slightest itch of a smile. "But you still haven't persuaded me why I should consent?"

It gritted her teeth. He was prompting for her to sell herself to him. Like a common whore. "Because it's your duty." She left, not allowing Stark the satisfaction of seeing her beg like a cheap harlot.

-000-

The self-proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms was dragged in chains, before the very throne that he aspired himself to climb. He was naked and his skin colour bared the likeness of rotten dirt; pulled in because his limbs had so long endured their time on the Stretcher. From the very moment his siege failed, Joffrey ordered Renly Baratheon the Traitor to be put on The Stretcher, a device that was as horrendous as the name suggested.

Renly's tormented eyes looked at the Iron Throne.

The golden boy sat there, smirking at his degraded uncle. He clapped when his uncle was forced to his knees and stood up.

"Is this how you treat the Lord of the Seven Kingdom's, Ser Meryn?" Joffrey sneered. His smirk was poisonous. He lifted the crown off his head and walked down the steps from his throne; the lords and ladies from all over the Kingdoms witnessed how Joffrey laughed wickedly and placed the golden crown on his Uncle Renly's head.

"Joffrey?" The battered and bruised Baratheon stuttered out with the cold crown above his brow.

"My King…" Joffrey mock bowed to Renly. He flicked his fingers at the Kingsguard knight. "Where is your honour? Escort the King unto the throne where he belongs! Where he thought he ought to sit!" The Knights did just that. And Renly had been made king, in mocking bitter horror.

Joffrey laughed cruelly. The courtiers laughed with him. Cersei and Jaime watched their son's developing madness and refused to believe it. The Stark's watched in horror of Joffrey's behaviour.

"Why so solemn, King in Highgarden?" Joffrey continued to mock. "Ser Meryn! Bring the King his sword and place it in his hand! The King should show strength." When the Kingsguard brought to Renly a colossal great sword and tugged it into Renly's hand, the weak, stretched limbs gave it and the sword dropped. The ultimate symbol of weakness. "There's the King in Highgarden! A weak, miserable fool!" Joffrey yelled out. "Kingsguard! Stab the False King! A sword for every kingdom he tried to steal!"

Sansa, no longer able to watch and too naïve to think that the king could be stopped by love for her, stepped forward. "Your Grace, surely there is no—"

"Silence! You stupid girl!" Joffrey's raspy voice echoed around the halls. "Or the same will befall you!"

Eddard, shocked at the language addressed to his daughter, was ready to leap at the boy with his sword in hand screaming but a cold hand clasped him at the elbow and drew him back; leashing him and his anger like a mad dog. There was something unknown and paralysing in the grip that the Young Maester applied. He couldn't move. He was trapped in the movements of a young boy's wrist.

"Do you see, lord Stark? Why an alternative alliance to the Royal Family is necessary for the Starks?" The unmistakable cold voice of the Young Maester whispered into Eddard's raging head. He could not see the young boy's face but his chilly voice was enough to recognise him.

"Let go of me!" Eddard hissed. "That boy just insulted my daughter!"

"And what will do you? Charge at the throne with a sword? You will meet the same fate as the King in Highgarden before you even reach Joffrey with your sword." Feeling that the northern lord had been reasoned with, Howland let go of him. "I know the rage that you feel. Your daughter has been insulted and therefore you also have been. And it stings. It burns in pain. But getting yourself killed will not dull the pain. Vengeance or time or something else, just might."

Eddard nodded to the Young Maester and instead pulled his Sansa towards him. If he couldn't avenge her honour, he could at least protect her in his arms.

When Joffrey repeated his command, all seven of the knights obeyed and took their turn to shove a sword into Renly's belly. By the fourth blade, Renly had already died; chocked on the blood from his internal bleeding rather than the stabbings, but they continued to stab his spewing belly.

Joffrey asked for Robert Baratheon's war-hammer and when the squire brought the enormous thing, Joffrey lifted it with ease. The golden boy walked up the steps; he turned to the court and smiled, cruelly. He lifted the war hammer of his father and smashed it against Renly's lifeless body, shattering every bone in his body.

-000-

Stark had approached her rather violently that very same day. He emerged right before her path and obstructed her from her course. "You to Robb, Lionel to Arya; I will reluctantly agree to. But I will not give Sansa to Joffrey. Two unions should be plenty."

Cersei was not surprised by Stark's insistence. It was after all her that prompted to Joffrey that today was a good day to trial Renly. "Are you well, Lord Stark?"

"As well as I can be."

"So what persuaded you to my conditions?" They walked alongside among the corridors of the Red Keep, a group of Lannister guards behind them, which had been with Cersei before Stark bumped into her.

"That is irrelevant, Your Grace."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. Keep your silence. Then I must propose another match." Stark's brow raised and rightly so because how many matches could a person ask of from a family the despised? Unless of course it was a family they despised very much. "Jaime and Sansa."

"Are you out of your mind, Your Grace?! Jaime is a member of the Kingsguard! He broke one oath and now is he to break another?! By taking a wife! Not to mention to my daughter?! No he will not do. This is out of question."

"Careful now, Lord Stark. You insult my blood, you insult me."

Stark sighed, proud as he was. "I must refuse your proposal, Your Grace."

"You will have either all of my conditions. Or none. If you choose none, your family shall be isolated and without a king's favour. You will face a bitter war in which your family may not survive. You may not fear death, but do you truly wish to cut the throats of your family with your proud ideals of honour and nobleness."


	10. Chapter 10

Ravens had been sent by the King's Regent to Winterfell. And not too late after that, so was the King's mother. Packed with all her treasures; her two youngest children, chests of gold and silk, servants, dozens of barrels of Dornish wine and any other comforts she deemed necessary.

Stark had accepted; just as he had been manipulated to.

"I demand to know who in the Seven Hells you are!" The fury of the Regent, which had previously been leashed, exploded. He stormed into the crammed little room that was the Young Maester's chambers, with a sword ready in hand to extract his rage on the little man that played him like a pawn.

"Seven greetings to you too, my lord," Howland set aside his book and quill to face the Stark lord.

"What is your game?! What do you want? Why have you played my family into this game?"

"My dear Lord Stark, you are the one that put your family into this game. You are the one that listened to the whispers of the various vipers and vermin of this court. You agreed to the match between the hateful Lannister woman and your trueborn son. I only suggested the path. But you walked it."

"Your words are venom. And I swear on my life that I will never let them seep into my ears again!"

"You'll be regretting that vow when you realise that I saved your family."

Stark's flaring eyes pierced into the Maester. "Who are you? What's your true name? Some kind of a Lannister rat?"

"Not a Lannister one."

"Then what? What are you really?"

The Maester considered it and he felt real temptation to tell the proud lord. He wanted to see the stunned look on Eddard Stark's face once the identity was revealed. The satisfaction would be so sweet. "The Pride of the Citadel."

The sword that Lord Stark held in his hand suddenly gleamed and lifted in the air, ready to strike. "I'll ask you again. I demand to know who you truly are, as Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and in the name of our King!"

Howland sat there, all smug and cunning. "You give me an empty threat. You'll never strike me because if I die my secret dies with me. And you will walk out of this room a murderer."

Eddard Stark fumed, growled and slammed his hand on the table but he left anyway. The Stark frozen patience cooled the scorching anger. "This is not over." The door slammed behind him.

The Maester sighed. "I hope not, Father."

-000-

"Your grandson, my lord, Prince Lionel of House Lannister," the usher announced Lionel's entrance into Tywin Lannister's quarters. The Prince came in shortly.

Tywin spared him a glance. He was seated at his desk, writing. Always writing. The scribbling of the quill was a sound that Tywin Lannister was always associated with in his heir's mind.

"You are walking," he stated.

"Sleeping gives strength, I have learnt."

"Why have you come?"

"For your advice about what to do with my father's and brother's outpour of debt. A man of your experience with debt paying should know a thing or two. So the Master of Coin asks the Hand for advice." The steel boy grinned.

In truth, Lionel was not going to lift a finger to aid his brother. He had set his schemes to make the debts swallow his brother whole, for the seat on the Iron Throne to become vacant. After that… well Lannisters pay their debts.

"Indeed. Almost three million to Casterly Rock, is it? Two million to the Tyrrels. One million seven hundred eighty four thousand and five hundred eighty nine gold dragons due to the Iron Bank."

"Right… well, I wouldn't want my inheritance to suffer because the king can't pay off his debts." Lionel smirked. "I'd hate to take up arms against my brother to pay off my debts. Especially if I know my brother's exchequer is empty."

Emerald and golden flecked eyes flicked up to his grandson and then back down at his paper. "Be merciless. Be cruel if need be. Strangle the last copper out. And always remember to never care what the sheep thinks of the great lion; the shepherds will respect you for that."

"Most likely the shepherds will fear me."

"Exactly."

Lionel stood up and took a goblet; he filled it with water. But he never drank. "Thank you for the advice, grandfather. I'll make sure to use it when you're gone… which will not be too long."

Tywin slowly looked up. "Excuse me?"

Lionel smiled. "I've noticed you use a wine taster to taste flagons instead of cups. All I really had to do to poison you was to slip in something into the cups of my own room. Don't you remember visiting my chambers last week and you drank from my goblets? All I needed to do was wait for you and for a servant to warn me of your arrival. That was exactly a week ago; the exact time for the poison to act."

A purple vein popped out, bright and juicy, on Tywin's neck. He struggled to breathe and clutched, hopelessly, at his invisible killer. And then another… and another…

"If I had to count, I'd say you have a few minutes left." Seeing his grandfather scrap for his dear life made the murderer's voice crackle as he said his final words. "You remember my Maester, I trust, the one that brought me back to life… everyone remembers that they are taught in the art of healing, but few remember that they are therefore taught the art of death. This one is called the Cobra's Fangs... I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Why—…?" Tywin croaked out. There was no air in his lungs. It was a miracle that he could even breathe out the word.

"Why?! You ask that? You should know! I've always hated being told to do anything. I've always hated to be cast down. I've never been able to accept being second. My mother, my father, my brother, even you, have always told me that I could never do something. Most importantly… that I could never be king. Well, Lord Lannister is a certain step towards being king."

Tywin continued to stare in dread at him, with bloodshot eyes and a purpling face.

"Don't despair, grandfather. I am too much like you. The only thing that matters is the Lannister name. And I shall make a dynasty that shall last millennia of Lannister kings on the Iron Throne."

With the reassuring thought of his name being preserved, Tywin drew his last breath.

"…Only I'll do it my way. And just to spite you, the millennia of Lannister kings will begin with a Stark mother. Frozen gold will last a very long time." Lionel then dropped his goblet and charged out of the room with a face that looked like a witness to a ghost. "Guards! The Hand of the King is dead! Call the Maesters! Tell the King! Go! Quickly, man!"

-000-

"How did he die?" Joffrey demanded of the two Maesters in the room. The King and Master of Coin stood around their grandfather's corpse, which had been pulled onto the Hand's bed by order of the Young Maester, against the advice of the Grand Maester.

"Poison," the Grand Maester told the king, clutching a cloth to his nose to cut out the putrid smell. He couldn't bear to be near the abominable smell.

"The king can see that his Hand didn't die of the common cold," Lionel hissed at the old man. Joffrey looked at his twin.

"The Master of Coin is correct, you old fool. What exactly killed my grandfather?" Joffrey's pesky, rotten voice commanded.

"That I cannot say, Your Grace," the _wise_ Grand Maester told him

"Manticore Venom, I believe, Your Grace," Howland stated, kneeling beside the body. Perhaps he thought he was being impressive. "A common poison but no less affective… it takes a couple of hours to come into effect and the patient dies in painful agony. Your Highness, you say that your grandfather started to swell up and purple in your presence?"

"Yes, he did." Lionel confirmed. The alibi of a few hours instead of a week took suspicion off the heir to Tywin's lands and titles.

"It won't be Manticore Venom, boy!" Pycelle shouted at the youth on his knees. "His lordship Tywin Lannister died abruptly."

Howland turned viciously towards to white bearded, drowsy old man. "Perhaps you have forgotten your studies in the Citadel, Grand Maester. You would remember that all bodies are different and they all react differently to different substances."

"Well… I suppose so," Pycelle admitted. His drowsy half-lid eyes drooping in their sockets. He was an extremely old man.

"Or perhaps the Grand Maester is too tired," Joffrey said, aloud. "Too tired and drowsy for his position of Grand Maester. Perhaps it's time that you should be replaced, Grand Maester."

Pycelle starred in shock at the golden boy king. He had been Grand Maester for 40 years for three kings, only to be deposed by a boy?! "Pardon, Your Grace?! I… I… swore a vow to serve the crown!"

Lionel looked at the Grand Maester. "You've served three kings and two have died. Must mean you're not good at your job." He clicked his fingers and two Lannister guards came in and grabbed the Grand Maester. "You are not fit to advice my brother." The guards dragged him out as Pycelle protested and struggled in their grip.

"I've always found him irritating," Joffrey said. "The fool was lucky to get out of this castle with all his limbs intact." He looked at the corpse. "So… you are now the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands."

"And you need a Hand and a Grand Maester now."

"Uncle Jaime?"

"Is a warrior, not a politician."

"Great-Uncle Kevan?"

"A cowardly fool."

"Lord Stark."

"He has too much already. Regency. Lordship. Three marriages to our family."

"…You?" Joffrey chuckled at the absurd notion.

"Of course not. I'm busy being Lord of the Westerlands and Master of Coin. Have you considered Uncle Tyrion?"

Joffrey looked at the younger twin with a crooked eyebrow. "You and I both hate the little monster—Where is the little beast anyway?"

"Uncle Jaime said he was visiting the Wall. My best guess is that he's taking his time coming back to the capital. Drinking and whoring in every tavern and alehouse on the Kingsroad."

"Why are you advocating him?"

"Because, although he besmirches the Lannister name with his lecherous habits, he is a clever man and you need a clever man to rule the Kingdoms, not a man you may necessarily like."

Joffrey put his arm on a chair and leaned on it. "Don't you drink and whore, brother?"

"I don't drink anymore. And I don't whore so publically or so much."

"The crow calls the raven black," Howland smiled, standing up from his seat. "Excuse me, Your Grace and Your Highness."

"It's 'My Lord' now, Maester. My brother is after all a lord. He's demoted from the title of Prince. Lord Lionel Lannister of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the West." Joffrey smirked and his brother's face remained placid; lords, although not as fancy as princes, were a great deal more powerful and flexible in the Game of Thrones. "Of course 'Shield of Lannisport' was grandfather's earned title and not yours—"

"There should be a Warden of the West somewhere in that title, _Your Grace_."

"You're not of age to be a Warden. You've won no battles."

"Four words for you brother: Battle of the Goldroad—"

"In which you died… what a shitty soldier. My definition of winning a battle is coming back alive from it."

"I won that battle and the soldiers worship me, whereas you cowered and ran away during the Battle of the Blackwater. I deserve the title! It is mine by right!"

"I am king. I revoke your right. It is a gift that you have your title of Lord Lannister."

Lionel began to laugh. A laugh full of rage. "Who else is grandfather's heir?"

"Uncle Jaime, mother has made me promise of disbanding him from the Kingsguard soon. Uncle Kevan. Uncle Tyrion even, if only to spite you." Joffrey's cruel little eyes stabbed Lionel a thousand times into his pride. He seemed to stand taller than his little brother, even though they had always been of one height. "I am the king. Bend your knee and swear to me your fealty and I will not name you an enemy of the realm."

"What treason have I committed, then?"

"I can always frame you for some kind of treason, brother." Joffrey smirked. "Kneel."

It was humiliating. It was degrading for the Lord of Casterly Rock. But the king's word was law and the second-born always kneeled to the firstborn, so Lionel kneeled and swore empty vows of loyalty to a brother who did not deserve them.

"I will not name you Warden of the West, and the world will burn before I name you or that little monster the Hand of the King. In fact, I don't see why I need a Hand at all. Or a regent for that matter."

-000-

Arya had been dragged out by her sister and father from their tower in a dress and forced to socialise with other lords and ladies. By dress, it meant Sansa and Septa Mordane and a few of the household guards were to hold her down, scrub all the dirt she had accumulated from her lessons with the Dancing Master. Then she would be forced into a dress that her sister would sacrifice, knowing she would ruin it. And by 'socialise', it meant that she would awkwardly stand beside her father or sister as they talked to one lord or another.

It was the death of the Hand, Tywin Lannister. Every lord and lady, squire and servant, knight and Maester in the Kingdom was there it seemed. Everyone wanted a piece of the corpse.

The doors crashed open and the new Lord of Lannister stormed out. Fuming and angry and white-fisted, he looked ready to kill a man. The moment he emerged, a swarm of courtiers clung to him like a beehive, apparently blinded from his rage.

"Lord Lannister!"

"What about His Lordship Tywin Lannister!"

"Does Casterly Rock revert to you? Where does his fortune pass?"

"Are you the new Warden of the West?"

"Have you been named Hand of the King?"

Lionel managed to march out of the Throne Room without punching anyone. She doubted that he had even noticed the crowd in his storming anger. His face astonishingly matched the crimson of his garments. The courtiers melted away the moment he stepped through the door.

"Perhaps you should talk to him?" Sansa told her sister as they starred at the swarm of courtiers at the doors.

"I don't think he wants to chat."

Moments later, the king emerged and declared at his grandfather's funeral will commence in a week. Then he added: "My brother is not the Warden of the West! He is too fool to be a Warden, isn't that right? I instead will name Kevan Lannister as Warden of the West!"

"That title is Lionel's by right!" Arya whisper-growled to her sister

"I'm sure that the king has his reasons," Sansa replied, half assured. Her opinion of her dream prince had greatly deflated since their journey to and stay at King's Landing. Sometimes she really dreaded being wedded to him. Eddard had not yet revealed to her or anyone else for that matter about her betrothal to Ser Jaime Lannister.


	11. Chapter 11

Needless to say, Catelyn Stark was not thrilled at the prospect of sacrificing her firstborn to that venomous woman. Cersei Lannister had not inspired in the Stark Lady much love, with her poisonous snake eyes and false smiles. She was the very antonym of a perfect daughter-in-law. If such a thing existed.

She had, however, inspired pity from Catelyn when they were seated side by side at the feast and Robert Baratheon started groping the various scullions. But the feeling of pity was not enough to justify her being the bride of her son.

The weir-woods of Winterfell were beautiful for the wedding, in a frightening, horrendous sort of way. Their sinister faces shone brightly so that the gods could bear witness to the vows. Light snows emphasised a coldness that they bore. Men were dressed in hard leather and the women were coddled in thick furs.

The young prince and Princess were garbed in their Lannister-Baratheon cloaks beneath the winter furs that had been bought for them. When they first arrived they were not suited for the climate. The prince even caught a cold and was confined to a bed with lemon and honey tea by Maester Luwin. Now after a few days of northern remedies, his mother's tender care and proper winter clothes he looked better.

"You're not pleased, mother," Robb stated. He looked every inch the Lord Stark that he born to be: proud, tall and frozen. The bride had not yet arrived, so Catelyn decided to entertain her son.

"She wouldn't be my first choice of a bride for you. She's old, has few childbearing years left, a widow and a Lannister."

"Well it is too late to change any one's mind now and it was Father's express command."

"I know."

Perhaps Eddard had thought that a political alliance was more important than their eldest son's need for children. He must have followed the train of thought that, they had three sons and two daughters; the Stark name would not die any time soon.

Whatever his reasons, Catelyn had no choice but to stand aside and allow her son to swear his vows to that woman. Ned was her Lord and husband; she had no say in this matter.

The bride led herself into the altar. Her father and brothers were hundreds of miles away and her son was too young; it would have been humiliating for her to be led in by a 9 year old boy.

The proud, golden lioness strode in. Her wedding dress displayed the colours of her house: lavish gold and rich, blood red. _Robb's blood_ , Catelyn thought spitefully. Lion heads and manes were engraved on every ruby or neck piece or dress or anything she wore. Clearly, that she was not ready to be Lady Stark, nor would she ever… Only Queen or at the very least Lady Lannister.

"Who comes to beg the god's blessing?" Ser Rodrick Cassel substituted the position of the groom's father.

"I do, Queen Cersei of House Lannister. I come to be wed before the gods."

Catelyn internally rolled her eyes at her daughter-in-law's hold on the title that was technically wrong. _Dowager Queen._

"Who takes her?"

"I do," Robb stepped forward. "Lord Robb of House Stark."

"Queen Cersei, do you take this man?"

There was a long, dreading pause. _For my children's lives._ "I do."

"Lord Robb, do you take this woman?"

"I do."

"You may cloak the bride and I pronounce thee man and wife."

The grey and silver cloak of House Stark draped over the gold. And Catelyn's son was no longer her boy. He belonged to _her_ now by vow.

-000-

The feast was lavish and rich. The music blared. Drunk men and merry women toasted to their Lord's Heir and his new Lady. Robb laughed while his wife devoured her wine; both were in their own way happy and satisfied.

But their independent happiness was abruptly stopped by the shouts of one drunk fool. "It's time for the bedding ceremony!" And every other drunk and merry guest agreed. Cups and tankards were hanged against the wooden tables. Cries for the ceremony to begin were pressuring the young lord but he, somewhat admiringly, didn't bow to their demands.

"Silence! I think we can dispense with the usual tradition, my lords," Robb Stark announced. He stood up and offered his hand to his new wife. He led both of them to his bed chambers and the clamour and merriness continued anyway.

Continued for everyone but Catelyn, who watched her son plunge into his murky and Unknown destiny. He belonged to _her_ now by body.

-000-

Robb Stark led the Lady in and bolted the door behind him. The last thing he wanted was for Rickon, in his lonesome state, or one his new stepchildren to barge in on what they were about to do.

"Was the wedding sufficient to your liking, my lady?"

"Decent enough." She said with a hint of disdain. Her current pacing about the room nerved him; she was inspecting and judging him. A slim, bejewelled hand polished lightly across the grey tapestries and boring furniture. Robb didn't like to live lavishly or in particular luxury; his chambers were basic.

Robb went up to his hearth and put some more dry wood. It had been a cold night. "Your children were well looked after, I trust?"

"They were."

"Your boy looks better." The fire crackled and shot out sparks.

"He has his colour back."

"I talked to him and his sister. Say they want to go playing in the snow. Told him he's not rested enough."

Cersei was certainly surprised by the boy's interest or care for her children. She figured that he, like Robert or Jaime, would ignore them for whatever personal reason. For a moment, she thought he cared more for them than their father. But only for a moment, until her mind became clouded with suspicion and bad-will from her husband. She chose to move on in their topic.

"Have you ever had a woman?" She settled on the aide bed that had been doubled in size since the wedding was announced.

An awkward question, thought Robb. "I have."

"Some whore?"

"Yes."

Well at least he's truthful, thought Cersei. "Is there a brothel in Winterfell?"

"Everywhere has a brothel. My father's ward seems to attract them like a magnet." Robb stepped toward her. "My lady, I took a vow. I intend to keep it."

Cersei chuckled at the absurdity. "Your namesake said the same. The day after our wedding, he was already riding some wench."

"Well then, I suppose only time will tell if I bear likeness to your last husband."

She smirked and produces a cup of wine out of seeing my nowhere. "Take your clothes off, boy." She sipped.

"I'm not your boy," he growled.

She stood up and level herself with him. Suddenly, she sharply grabbed him by his manhood and he gasped. His clothes couldn't hide the growing and hard member. "Aren't you?"

-000-

"You summoned me, Lord Lannister?" Howland asked walking into the lavish apartments of his friend.

"Lord Lannister… Are you always so formal?" Lionel asked placing a berry in his mouth. He was seated on his balcony, overlooking the rowdy city and glistening sea.

"You sound displeased with the title."

"I have power, but the title of 'Prince' did sound nicer."

"Some would call you spoilt."

"The opinions of 'some' are none of my concern."

The Maester rolled his eyes. "You said had need of me?"

"I'm leaving for the Rock this evening. I'll be back in a week. I would offer you to come with me but I know what your answer to that will be."

"My place is in King's Landing. I have no business at Casterly Rock and I am not there to kiss your arise every time you take a dump."

Lionel turned to him. "You've become bolder."

"And you have forgotten your desire and purpose," Howland said pointedly. He marched up to the brooding young Lord. "You dreamed of being King. What happened to that?"

"I've been thinking a lot. I have seen death... What it is… How pointless and empty our lives really are. I don't want… anything anymore. My brother insulted me? What of it, I've realised. We will all fucking die and turn into nothing, even kings."

Howland slapped him on the face. A throbbing, red mark remained on his face. The echo bounced around the city's skies. "You think you are the first to see death first hand? You think this mopping and sorry state that you are in will stop your brother from killing you when the time comes? We both know that he will want you strangled in your sleep."

Lionel remained motionless. The stinging pain dying on his cheek. "I've been wondering a lot... How did you manage to bring me back to life?"

"Tired of living?" The master questioned, sarcastically. He allowed himself to cool down.

"Tired of thinking about death more like."

"You'll learn certain reassurance in death... After the first few times you visit death's realm."

"You've been there?"

"Thrice."

Lionel paused for moment. It was the first time Lionel realised that he was talking to someone who knew what the kiss of death felt like. "Doesn't it haunt you?"

"...every day. And that makes me live more. Nothing like death that can whack you in the head as hard to remind you to keep on living."

Lionel regarded his friend and realised that his past was far darker than he had originally imagined. "So... How did you do it? How did you save us both from death?"

"What is Oldtown the home of?"

Lionel thought about it and shrugged. "The Citadel. House Hightower. Peasants. Disease?"

"Merchants and traders too. And those merchants bring with them passengers: travellers from close and far. Travellers, among their many gifts, bring and spread ideas from half way across the world."

"What idea is that?"

"A religion."

Lionel wanted to laugh. "You? A religious man? But you're a learner! An advocator of science. I thought Knights of the Mind didn't pay attention to stories."

"I had been. The gods, old or new, never answered my prayers. Books and old masters tested their existence. But... _they_ showed me something, something that changed my mind." Howland turned to the Lord of Lannister. "Do you believe it's easy to change my mind? Or to make me believe something I don't want to see?"

"No."

"But they did."

Lionel turned in his seat. "This religion of yours... What do they worship? Trees? Weeds? Stone?"

"Blood."

"Sounds awfully similar to the Red religion, only they worship fire."

"They're sister religions. From one parent. Only, as always, one prophet saw red fire and fiery life and the other saw red blood and a bloody death in their legendary holy quests."

"That would explain why you butchered my whore."

"Only death can pay for life. Her death, her blood. Now your heart pumps her blood as well as yours."

"And how did her blood magically get into my body?" Lionel glanced at his friend sceptically.

"You were one flesh. One body. One soul when you joined together The sexual act is more sacred that most believe. You had... exchanged fluids, shall we say."

"Then… what were all those deals of marriage that you forced my parents into?"

Howland smiled. "My own personal gains. I needed a strong union between the two families that I have interests with. Three weddings sounded sufficient enough. Naming it the god's will, threatening the lives of their children and calling it a debt was the initiative your parents needed to agree to marriages with spouses half their age."

"Two families that have interests with?" Lionel put his cards down. "Really? What relationship do you have to the Starks?"

"I'm one of Eddard Starks's bastard sons. He had twin boys."

The revelation shocked the Lannister Lord and he said nothing for some time, processing this news. He had not expected that. "B-but... Lord Stark has seen you by now. You're telling me that he wouldn't recognise his own son?"

"Hard to recognise someone you last saw over 12 years ago. And… no one remembers the bastard of Winterfell that left home when he was 7 years old."

Lionel began to laugh. "My gods! You really thought everything through!"

"That is... My character."

Howland became cold again. The moment of warmth froze and the cold blooded man sharply turned to the Lannister. "And now your mood swings are foiling my plans. You want me to tell you that you're the chosen one? That you're my friend? That you were destined to be a king greater than your brother and father? Guess what, I won't. Your survival and success is crucial for me. And my survival and success is also crucial for you."

"Why?"

"Because all kings need rats and snakes that shovel their shit and do the dirty work. And it is because of kings and lords that rats and snakes get fat and die happy—"

Just as he said the last word, the Spider crawled into the chambers; silent and deadly as his reputation implied. "Your brother has decided to do the unthinkable: he's just given orders for Lord Stark to be imprisoned and his daughters taken into custody."

The two boys looked at Varys in shock. "Why?!"

"The King wants an immortalising war with the North. He wants what all kings want: a legendary name."

"If the fool would ever succeed, the songs would praise him as the Conqueror of the North. It had never been conquered by a southern king. But he is a fool; when winter comes all his southern armies and gods will never save him."

"Does he not realise that our mother has just married the North and our siblings have gone with her?" Lionel jumped from his seat, alert of another danger. His depressing thoughts of death turned into nothingness once his fool of a brother made a move to endanger the Lannister name.

"I believe that's part of the problem. Correct me if I'm wrong, my Lord, but your mother's absence might have fuelled the king's need of her by his side, which is where she had been all his life… So heart breaking it is when a young boy is lacking a mother, especially a boy with such temperamental responsibilities."

"So my brother wants war for two reason: to be great and to get his mother back from a husband she has chosen," Lionel turned to the Young Maester, "at least to the best of his knowledge."

"My birds sing their songs," Varys' milky voice turned the Lord's attention to him. The soft eyes watched as the Steelheart paced the room with thought and stress and temper.

"The Stark's need to leave King's Landing immediately, otherwise my family may die. The Stark's may be honourable but pain and vengeance cut deeper than duty. How long until Lord Stark is taken?"

"By my estimate within half an hour. Less maybe. The Kingsguards are off to do their duty. A black cell is being prepared. And may I advise that you my Lord are nowhere near Lord Stark when his capture happens, otherwise you too could be taken. The king's words were: take care of anyone who opposes you, in the name of the King."

"You should smuggle the daughters out of the city. Ride to Casterly Rock immediately. With your mother and father and grandfather gone and Eddard Stark out of the way, Joffrey could strike against you." Howland stood up.

"What about Lord Stark?" Lionel asked.

"I'll get him out. I happen to know most of the secret passages of the Red Keep. It would be an interesting family reunion." Howland grinned, coldly.

"How?"

"My benefactor," Howland looked at Varys, "demanded that I do him a service and map out all the secret passages of the Red Keep. He thought that with my extensive knowledge about crafts and architecture be could obtain information faster."

"And right I was since that is how I have come here so swiftly," Varys bowed in gratitude to the Young Maester, smiling.

"Very well, get Lord Stark out. I'll get your half-sisters. And the households?"

"Should leave a day later. Large groups attract attention, and you will not be able to outrun the City Watch's. Dress as travellers and no one will bat an eye at you. Take Lannister guards with you and whispers will spread and I will have no choice but to tell your brother. He'll put my head on a spike if I come to him without whispers," Varys said.

All three knew that both Stark and Lannister households would be either slaughtered or imprisoned once the King learnt of the treachery of his brother and the fleeing of the Starks.

"I'll see you in Casterly Rock, then. I trust you know the way."

"The way is quite clear. Your Lannister ancestors did their best to show off their wealth: The Goldroad they called it." Howland grinned and they departed.


	12. Chapter 12

When the Lannister Lord barged into their chambers, Sansa was busy with her friend and Septa Mordane in a studious and focused knitting session. The crash of the door brought their full attention to him and he had to face a room full of bewildered females.

"My Lord," they all curtsied in unison upon seeing the king's brother and heir.

"Uh… Good evening ladies… Septa Mordane may I have a word?" The old septa rose, curtsied another time to him and followed him out. Outside the corridor, the Lord began his interrogation. "Where is Arya Stark, Septa?"

"She is with her Dancing Master, my Lord… If I may, what is this about?"

Lionel checked that no one was in the corridor. "Lord Stark is to be taken into custody by my brother. I need to get his daughters out of the city and out of danger's way. One of my henchmen has gone to warn Lord Stark of the threat. Septa, I need you to pack up the girl's bare essentials and we three will leave immediately. Prepare the Stark household too and follow us to Casterly Rock. My estate should be safe enough."

The new information whizzed in the Septa's mind. "My Prince… I …."

"Septa do as I command. Take it as an order from the future son-in-law of your liege Lord."

The woman immediately took action. "Where do we meet?

"Bring Sansa to the stables. And remember, bare essentials. I'll buy the ladies new dress and whatnot in Lannisport myself, but for now they need their bare essentials." And the Septa ran in, while Lionel departed to find the Dancing Master's apprentice.

-000-

Cloaked like a dark shadow with a hood covering her face, Sansa Stark ran down in great speed the long, winding steps of the Tower of the Hand towards the stables, as per the Septa's command. It was urgent and she was to meet her sister and her sister's betrothed in the stables.

Thinking back, Sansa was frightened of the Septa's harshness. Never before had there been such urgency or distress in the Septa's face. She had no choice but to obey the command.

The golden hair of the Lannister Lord gleamed in King's Landing's sunlight as his back faced her and be saddled a third horse. Her sister was already on one of the horses, watching him do the last horse.

"Where are we going?" Sansa marched up to the young Lord. He turned around to her and patted the saddle of the horse which he finished saddling.

"Casterly Rock, my lady. I hope you know how to ride." He extended a hand to aid to climb onto the chestnut mare. Sansa internally groaned; she hated riding. She looked at her sister and then at the Lannister, with distrust.

"Does our father know about this? Where is my Lord father?" Sansa questioned.

"Soon to join us. Now get onto the horse. You may end up thanking me for this at the end of the day, my lady." Lionel insisted and there was a similar kind of harshness in his insistence as was with the Septa. Sansa obeyed and threw a leg over the mare's saddle.

Lionel was on his own stallion within moments.

"Are we not taking any guards, _your lordship_?" Arya hissed at him, still angry that her Dancing session had been interrupted.

"Guards attract attention and indicate the identity of their lords. We need to sneak out of the city."

"Why sneak out? You're the king's brother, surely they'll let the blood of the King to do as they please?" Sansa asked.

"Blood of the King is more vulnerable and endangered than the slaves in Slavers Bay." He kicked the sides of his horse and galloped, a great sword strapped to his saddle and another sword on his hip managed to catch Sansa Stark's eye.

What was happening? And more importantly, where was their father?

-000-

When the three rogues came to the appropriately named Lion's Gate, they found that the gates were fortified with the City Watch. They were stopping people from coming into the city and checking people that were leaving the city.

Lionel stopped his horse and dismounted.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked him. He ignored her heading straight into the inn that was on the side of the road. He came out a few moments with a large sack of coins in one hand and in the other was the longsword that was on his saddle. He strapped that onto Arya's horse instead, hiding it under a flap.

"The City Watch is looking for us. We need better disguises." He gripped both the horses' bridles and led them to a dyer's workshop. In the common streets of King's Landing, it was easy to find things as everything was very predictable.

The dyer saw them coming. Knowing the difference between rich and poor was as easy as identifying water from ice. He advanced to them quickly. "What can I do for you, my lord and ladies?"

Lionel looked at the dyer. "What makes you think we're high born?"

"You walk like rich men."

Lionel kissed her teeth in a scowl. "I need you to dye this lady's and my own hair black," the young lord extended a hand to Sansa Stark. Arya, with her boyish, leather clothes could always pass as a boy, but Sansa carried herself with grace and her Tully red hair was as recognisable as his Lannister gold. Lionel dug a hand into his pouch and pulled a handful of silvers. "I realise this is not the work you are used to but I would advise you work carefully. I would like to restore the colour at some point in the future."

"Yes, m'lord."

With their appearance masked and Lionel charging the dyer's apprentice to buy more common clothing, they managed to leave the city within two hours without any problems.

-000-

When the Lannister-Baratheon guards of the King grabbed Eddard Stark by the shoulders and subdued him, none were more surprised than himself. They threw him into the deepest and darkest of cells and had no chance to save himself or to understand what was happening.

The King had named him traitor and ordered them to seize him to await the King's justice. That was everything they or he knew.

What treason? What traitor? Why? What had he done wrong? What was wrong with Robert's boy?

Little did he know that beneath his very feet, the shrewd Maester was following their steps in a secret tunnel that Maegor the Cruel himself had designed. With a burning torch in one hand, a map he himself drew in the other and encapsulated by pure darkness the Young Maester followed them. If one remained quiet enough and the fire torch didn't crackle too loudly, he would hear the steps of the people above his head.

The guards were leading the Stark Lord into the Throne room. In there, there weren't any tunnels that Howland knew of so be waited and listened.

"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell! You have dishonoured your King, the Realm and your name! You have committed the heinous crime of treason! By plotting to overthrow the King in favour of your future son-in-law! It is His Grace's pleasure that you and Lord Lionel of House Lannister both hang for your treacherous misdeeds." Maester Pycelle read from a scroll.

Ned stood there in utter shock.

"Does His Grace have proof of my treachery because I swear on my honour and by the Old Gods and the New, that I have done no such thing," Eddard professed.

Joffrey grinned and waved at his Master of Whispers.

"Here I hold a letter written in Lord Stark's hand," the eunuch, who held no loyalty to any master or desire, held up a letter in his dough like hands. "It reads: _the realm that Robert left to his eldest son is in ruins and his eldest son is to ruin it further. The boy is mad with cruelty and if he should remain on the Iron Throne he shall deserve the name of the Mad King. But his younger brother is clever and kind and to wed our daughter, which should make me the most powerful Lord in the land, should the Gods allow him to ascend the throne. Pray, we must advance the God's blessing in haste. Your Lord and Husband and Father, Eddard Stark_." Varys packed the false letter into his pockets. "Addressed to his wife and eldest son."

"Your Grace, I swear on my honour and gods both Old and New that I had never written such a letter."

Howland waited in the underground tunnel listening to his father pleading and being sentenced. It was very ironic, he thought. When he was murdered, Eddard Stark knew nothing of it. In fact, the great Lord of Winterfell probably hadn't known that his second son had ever died.

The Maester thought back to all the bitterness he remembered so very clearly…

 _There had been four of them… the exact number of blood brothers that he had._

 _His sworn brothers had each shoved a knife into his back for reasons he did not know. Each point dug deeper than the last and the grey robes of a Maester turned crimson and black and spilling onto the creamy marble floor of the Citadel's floor._

 _Howland's shocked body stepped forward, the daggers still punched into his spine. The murderers watched him with smirks on their faces. His feet slipped on his own blood pool and the frail, weak body that was his own pulled him down onto the cold, unfriendly pink stone._

 _As his cheek was pressed to the marble, he heard the mocking, bold voice of the dumbest of his sworn brothers. "Why don't you howl to Lord Daddy now, bastard?"_

 _Then there was nothing._

For a very long moment, Howland reconsidered undergoing with this mission. He had been betrayed by his sworn brothers and the pain was insufferable, but that was not as insufferable as the feeling of bitter silence that was the response to his letters to Winterfell.

"I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH!" Joffrey screamed from the top of his lungs. Howland had been too absorbed in his thoughts to keep track of the conversation.

His original plan was to loosen several of the secreted tiles and to unleash a smoke grenade of Howland's own design, and then he would have to secret his father into the whole and escape from underneath everyone's noses.

But as the Maester stood on the pivotal point of his life's greatest mistake, he was not sure whether he should carry out with his plan. Yes the man was his father and it was his duty to himself and his family to save him if he had the opportunity.

But the man had given him so much pain. And the family was never his.

He was a Snow. He would always be a Snow. Howland Snow the Bastard of Winterfell, Maester of the Citadel, scorn of House Stark.

"Ser Illyn!"

The axe with the chopping block came in that very hall. Joffrey had decided to be efficient and entertained, not giving the man a chance for a trial. War with the North was what Joffrey wanted and what better way to start the war than to publically and unjustly murdering the Warden of the North.

Or perhaps the foolish boy was simply bored. Either way Eddard of House Stark was to die in the very halls his father and brother had perished on account of another mad king.

In all of Howland's years of training to think, he couldn't choose: senseless duty and blood bond or sweet vengeance and desired pain.

The sword was raised.

A flash of sunlight blinked in everyone's sight, except Howland, who saw everything too clearly once the sword had fell… and his father's head rolled on the floor.

…he had killed his father… as much as Illyn Payne's sword did.

-000-

 **I am really sorry about this late update. As it happens, I am currently taking my exams and find myself with little time to spare. I hope you liked this chapter.**

 **Please review.**


	13. Author's Note

Hey there readers!

I greatly apologise but I have dug myself into a hole with this story and with this character. As seen by my lengthy absence, he bores me.

I have however uploaded another called "Of Casters and Falls" , which shares many elements with this one. Namely, a golden haired prince as the main character.

If you liked this story, please check that out!

(I don't intend to do that whole resurrection thing again.)

Bye!


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